Finding a Family
by hestiaA1
Summary: AU - What if Severus had been able to overcome Harry's resemblance to James? What if Harry weren't the only Griffyndor with Slytherin traits? ...Snape ends up mentoring the Golden Trio. Contains corporal punishment, not abuse. Several sequels now posted.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters - I've just inhabited her universe._

_AU - What if Snape had gotten over Harry's resemblance to James? What if Snape's Slytherin instincts taught him to use any weapon against Voldemort? What if Ron weren't quite the Gryffindor he seemed? Why not read the story and see what I've thought up?_

_Note: It's an AU story, set early in the 2nd year at Hogwarts, so be prepared for differences; for example, Snape's no longer a spy; some things may happen out of order (but hopefully not out of character) compared to canon, etc. This is not a Severus as Harry's longlost/biological/real life/magically contrived/unwilling/other improbable-but-what-the-heck-it-makes-for-fun-reading-reason father, but rather a "Snape as mentor" fic. In this version of the JKR universe, Harry remains the child of (only) James and Lily Potter though Severus and Lily did have a close friendship earlier in their lives. _

Twelve year old Harry Potter squirmed a bit as he nibbled on a biscuit. It still seemed wrong to be here. Very, very wrong. Forget the fact that he was sitting in Snape's quarters. (_Snape_, for Merlin's sake.) Forget the fact that the teacup in front of him wasn't filled with a hideous potion but instead a rather nice Darjeeling. Forget the fact that the biscuits were his favorite shortbread. Things were still wrong on a mammoth scale, but Harry wasn't quite sure what to do about it.

Granted, he was hardly an expert on normal, particularly when it came to family stuff. Sure, he had been loved by his parents – on that point, at least, everyone seemed to agree. But the Dursleys weren't exactly role models of good parenting, and while the Weasleys had practically adopted him, somehow he couldn't imagine that such a loud, active, and red-headed family was exactly average either. So he knew that he wasn't really sure how normal families acted. Still, he'd oh-so-casually dropped a few questions among his classmates – at least those with reasonably normal home lives – and the answers he'd received had convinced him that this sort of thing was Wrong.

He understood the concept of getting into trouble. Unfortunately, he was quite skilled at it. Perhaps not quite to the level of the Weasley twins, but pretty good. He was unfortunately also good at the "getting caught" part. He'd rather improve on "getting away with it", but that seemed to be more a Slytherin skill than a Gryffindor one.

He knew that after "getting into trouble" and "getting caught", there was the "punishment" phase. He acknowledged that living for years with the Dursleys had confused him a bit as to the whole "appropriate punishment" thing, but he was slowly coming to accept that being locked in a cupboard, starved, punched, clouted about the head, or hit with a belt were not acceptable forms of discipline, no matter how they were explained or rationalized. He was actually rather proud of himself for coming to terms with the fact that his relatives were the freaks, not him.

If he had to be really, really honest, he could even admit (quietly) that Snape had helped him distinguish between what was "appropriate" and "inappropriate", now that things between them had changed. It was still a bit hard for Harry to believe how _much_ things between them had changed.

It had become patently clear that Harry's return to the wizarding world had in essence painted a giant target on his forehead, and finally even the Hogwarts staff acknowledged that their "pretend he's just another student" approach was as irrational as the Dursleys' "pretend he's just another Muggle". Harry still didn't understand why it had taken the adults so long to figure out what he and his friends had known since the first time his scar had flared in pain.

Snape had actually been the first to come around, though Harry wasn't sure if that was because he was used to facing unpalatable facts or because his dislike of Harry made him indifferent to what the harsh reality of the threat would mean for Harry's adolescence. For Snape it was only a matter of grudgingly accepting that Harry wasn't, how had Snape once put it, "an arrogant spoiled brat with delusions of grandeur." It was Dumbledore and McGonagall who had been incredibly reluctant to abandon their fantasy that Harry could have the same kind of idyllic schooldays that his parents had – while simultaneously preparing (in some mysterious and ill-defined fashion) to tackle the Dark Lord. Still, once they understood that he and Voldemort had some weird kind of psychic connection, even they had agreed that things would have to change.

Harry had been sitting by the fireplace in the Headmaster's office when it was decided that Snape would be pulled from his spying duties to become Harry's tutor in defense of the dark arts and occlumency. His own outraged yell of "SNAPE? Are you kidding me?" had been completely drowned out by Snape's own bellows of fury.

Surprisingly, though, he hadn't been objecting to the Headmaster's proposal that he teach Harry – he was okay with that, and even now that thought made Harry smile a little inside. Rather he was furious at Dumbledore's and McGonagall's plan that he would just start the lessons with Harry without any other changes to their relationship. He had demanded guardianship of Harry, and McGonagall and Dumbledore had been as opposed to that idea as Harry had been. Then, that is. Now, Harry had rather gotten accustomed to the idea. And to the biscuits.

But when Snape had first demanded oversight of Harry's entire life, Minerva had rushed to defend her student from what she perceived as Snape's control freak nature. "Severus, we are all aware of how much you disapprove of Harry," she had scolded, eyes snapping. "Why in Merlin's name would you demand to have control over a boy whom you dislike and who – as you very well know – despises you?"

Harry had flinched at that. McGonagall was a lot braver than he was; he would never have blurted out his feelings like that, though she was exactly right about them. He'd expected Snape to send a glare his way, but Snape had just ignored him completely.

"Why? Because, Minerva, despite what you seem to think, I am not in the habit of raping little boys." Snape's cold pronouncement stopped the conversation in its tracks. He watched the others' thunderstruck expressions for a moment with a rather self-satisfied smirk before adding, "Or big boys for that matter, Potter, in case you were wondering."

Harry had gasped and squeaked and tried to turn invisible without his cloak. Dumbledore had finally found his voice. "Severus, I am certain that none of us would consider you in the habit of assaulting _anyone_ in that manner, of _any_ age or sex, but what does that have to do with teaching Harry?"

"Because, Headmaster, if occlumency is not taught by someone whom the student both likes and respects, the lesson is little more than a repeated and brutal violation of his mind. In order to show Potter how to keep me _out_, I must first get _in_, and to do that, I would insist upon his cooperation. I will not be responsible for adding to his psychic traumas. Besides," he added, "it would be nearly impossible to teach occlumency otherwise. Why do you think there are so few Occlumens?"

"And how will giving you supervision of Harry lead to him viewing you with affection?" Minerva had sounded almost as bewildered as Dumbledore.

Harry had wanted to know that too. It hadn't sounded very likely to him.

This time, Snape did turn to look at him. "Ignoring the fact that much of the tension between us comes from the heretofore necessary deception designed to enhance my reputation with the Dark Lord –" Harry had blinked at that. Did that mean that Snape had only pretended to hate him? That he actually liked him? At least a little bit? "Part of the reason that Potter and I do not get along well is because he is undisciplined, reckless, and allowed to run wild. He has had no adults in his life – present company included – who have consistently and firmly set reasonable limits on his behavior. It is therefore hardly surprising that he feels he has impunity to engage in whatever hare-brained idea occurs to him and his little friends." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape's voice wasn't harsh, but rather (for Snape) surprisingly sympathetic. "What is more, he has also lacked an adult to whom he can turn with his problems, who will actually listen to his concerns and take them seriously." Well, Harry had to admit Snape was right about that. McGonagall and Dumbledore tended to pooh-pooh any fears he took to them, and of course he had learned early on not to look to his aunt and uncle for any help. "I intend to provide Mr Potter with the support, limits, and consequences that any adolescent needs, because without that framework, any other lessons I teach him will be useless."

Harry had remained unconvinced, but McGonagall and Dumbledore had caved in, and from that moment on, Snape had become Harry's de facto guardian.

It hadn't been _all_ bad, though Harry had carefully not shared that aspect with his friends. As far as they were concerned, Snape was just giving Harry extra lessons so he could fight Voldemort. That was why Harry had to go to the dungeons pretty much every night. The first few weeks had been pretty rough, but after a while, Harry got rather used to the routine, and it was undeniably nice to have an adult all to himself to discuss his day. He hadn't understood how useful it could be to talk about school stuff with someone who wasn't another student and therefore wasn't involved in the different cliques and crises. And he had to admit that Snape had definitely helped him with his schoolwork. Hermione was actually impressed, but no one – even her – had ever explained to him all the little tricks, like how to organize notes or read a chapter with an essay in mind.

Snape even unbent far enough to occasionally discuss other topics, like quidditch and current events. Harry hadn't expected to be allowed to talk about anything but classes and potions, so it was a pleasant surprise to be able to bring up different subjects and hear an grown up's take on them. He had never before had the chance to spend time just relaxing with adults. His relatives ignored him whenever possible and since coming to Hogwarts, all the adults Harry knew were either teaching him, trying to kill him, or trying to rescue him. Just spending time with Snape was, well, nice.

Of course, the whole "enforcing limits" side of it wasn't much fun, and the first time Snape had done so, after catching Harry coming out of a _very_ unauthorized visit to the Forbidden Forest, Harry had been convinced that this was the worst idea imaginable. It wasn't that he hadn't been walloped before, it was just that Uncle Vernon utilized the blitz approach of slappunchkickslappunchgetthebelt, and Snape's cool and deliberate smacking had in some ways been harder to take. For one thing, Harry remained conscious the whole time.

With his uncle, he had been so busy fleeing or trying to protect his vital organs, he hadn't really noticed what was happening to him. Uncle Vernon got tired quickly, too, so the whole thing tended to be a frantic blur of terror, followed by a rather lengthy period locked in his cupboard, identifying his injuries and trying to patch himself back together.

By contrast, Snape made sure Harry knew exactly what he was being punished for, and even interrogated him during the spanking on exactly that topic. Lying across his professor's lap, waiting for the next swat to land, had a wonderful way of concentrating Harry's attention on just how much his backside was stinging, so there was no ignoring the actual blows in the heat of the moment. Snape made sure Harry was completely focused on just what was happening, and why, every moment of the entire punishment.

It didn't really make much sense. When Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia beat the hell out of him, Harry gritted his teeth and remained silent. But after just a few swats from Snape's hand, he would start tearing up and whimpering like he was four years old. He hadn't yelled the time that Dudley broke his arm, but tonight, when Snape had whacked him for broomstick surfing over the quidditch pitch, he had howled. Sure, it hurt – more than he had expected, to be honest – but after the first spanking, he had been appalled to discover that Snape hadn't left a mark on him. How was he supposed to explain to eagle-eyed Hermione why he had been bawling if he couldn't display, at least to Ron, some welts and bruises that justified such an outburst?

In the end, he had had to tell them that Snape was now allowed to physically discipline him. Hermione had been appalled – apparently (and predictably) her parents believed in "time outs, groundings, and talking things through". Ron, to his friends' surprise, was much more blasé about it. Once Harry had sworn that Snape wasn't being unfair or abusive – and that was the part Ron had found hardest to believe – Ron had shrugged off the thought of Harry getting smacked. Harry had been surprised, and more than a little relieved, when Ron had admitted that his parents had been known to use the same approach as Snape.

"C'mon, Hermione. You've met my brothers; can you really imagine my folks _wouldn't _have to use a wooden spoon occasionally?" Privately to Harry, he had confided that he thought it was a guy thing: "Us blokes would rather just get walloped and move on, right? It's the girls who want to talk about who was right and who was wrong and how they feel and blah blah blah. Believe me, I'd rather just get a couple of whacks across the arse and get it over with."

"Do you still get, um, whacked?" Harry had asked tentatively. He had rather assumed that spankings went out after the age of six, and it had been a blow to his pride when Snape had insisted otherwise.

"Well, not that often," Ron said, then blushed. "But yeah, sometimes. You know, for the big stuff. I mean, it still hurts and all, and I still make a big fuss, because you know, you're supposed to, right? But really, I think they just use it now when they're trying to make a point. Like that I really screwed up or I'm not quite as grown up as I think I am."

"So you yell and stuff?" Harry asked. This was another point on which he was more than a little anxious.

Ron had looked at him as if he were mad. "Well, sure. Snape doesn't make you keep quiet or anything, does he?" At Harry's head shake, he relaxed. "Good. I think only really twisted freaks refuse to let you yell." _Like the Dursleys, _Harry thought. "But the way I figure, if they're going to the trouble to hold you down and whale on you, then it's only polite to let them know you notice." He grinned at Harry. "Y'know, it's kind of a game, really. They're letting you know that you went too far, and you're letting them know you admit it. I guess girls can come out and _say_ that, but I'd rather just yell and complain and tell them they're killing me when we both know that they're not. It's like if I pretend that the punishment is a lot worse than it is, then I'm saying that I accept what they're doing, that they're right to punish me, but I don't actually have to _say_ it. I mean, a guy's got his pride, right?" Harry grinned. He followed Ron's logic perfectly. "To be fair, though, when I'm getting whacked, it's not like I think this stuff through. I just start howling like part of my brain really _does_ think that I'll never be able to sit again." Ron abruptly colored, as if he had revealed more than he had intended. "If you ever tell anyone I still get smacked, let alone that I _cry_ –"

Harry interrupted. "I do too, remember? That's what started this whole conversation."

Ron relaxed. "Oh, yeah. Right. Well, so anyway, I don't know what Snape's like, but my folks definitely expect us to yell. Plus, if you don't, then they tend to hit harder to make sure they're getting their point across."

That conversation had made Harry feel better and like less of a wimp. Spankings just struck him as so… Muggle. Not that he really wanted Snape to start hexing or cursing him instead, and when he had protested that a spanking seemed too _personal_, Snape had pointed out that it was exactly that kind of close bond that they were trying to forge. Besides, he had said, as Harry improved at his DADA lessons, the two of them _would_ be dueling, and Snape didn't want there to be any confusion in Harry's mind as to when he was being deservedly punished for misbehavior and when he was being attacked, whether for training purposes or in reality.

Harry had rolled his eyes, like only an idiot wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but if truth were told, he really did prefer keeping the two separate. For one thing, Snape had said that by the time he had finished training Harry, it would be second nature for him to be on guard and always ready to rebuff an attack. That meant Snape couldn't punish him without warning. No more surprise clouts when he wasn't expecting it or sucker punches flying out of nowhere. Harry liked the idea that punishments were now formalized and only came after due warning and with his own cooperation (relatively speaking). That meant that Harry could, with a clear conscience, defend himself against everything else. For the first time, Harry began to feel safe.

The other thing, which Harry would never, ever admit, even under torture, was that when Snape first pulled him across his lap – and before the first smack hit – he felt a sense of release, like whatever he'd done wrong was about to be expunged. He'd never really had that sense of absolution before, but being swatted, as unpleasant as it was at the time, did give him an actual, physical way to atone for his misdeeds. Being lifted back up when the punishment was over, he felt he'd been forgiven and the matter was closed.

That was good. Unfamiliar but good. The actual stinging-throbbing, scorched butt, painful sitting side of it was a lot less pleasant. What was downright weird, though, was that after the walloping was over (and the hopping around and the bawling and the sniffling and the rubbing and the hiccupping and the sulking), Snape always made him come into the parlor and perch on the overstuffed sofa and have tea and biscuits.

Harry sighed and took some more shortbread. This was just wrong. He was supposed to be limping back to his dorm, sullen and smarting and cursing Snape under his breath. Instead he was sitting, more or less comfortably on the soft cushions, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits and having an amazingly pleasant conversation with the greasy bat who had just walloped his behind. This was not how it was supposed to be.

"Why do we have tea and biscuits after you, erm, punish me?" Harry finally burst out.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We always have tea and biscuits before you leave. It is calming and conducive to bonding."

Harry frowned at the logical reply. "Well, yeah, but it's one thing to have it after a lesson or a study session or something, but it's just weird after a …" he trailed off awkwardly.

"Spanking?" Snape supplied, a faint sneer indicating his contempt for Harry's embarrassment.

"Yeah," Harry blushed. "Shouldn't you just throw me out afterwards? Aren't you sending mixed messages this way?" He was rather proud of that term. "Like on the one hand, you're mad enough to smack me but on the other hand you're being nice and stuff."

Snape frowned into his teacup. "I am constantly amazed at how much damage those Muggles did to you."

Harry's jaw dropped. "The Dursleys? What do you mean?"

"Potter, it is immediately after you have been punished that you are most in need of reassurance and affection. If I _didn't_ permit you to have our usual tea and biscuits, that would be sending the wrong message: that I will only like you if you behave yourself. Children – including adolescents," Snape amended, seeing Harry's outraged expression, "are supposed to make mistakes. Though," he added swiftly, "I consider trying to stand upright on a speeding broomstick thirty feet in the air a particularly egregious example of childish lapses in judgment.

"Regardless, you need to know that my – relationship – with you is not contingent upon your being perfect. You will in fact anger me on many occasions, but that will not alter my concern for you. By engaging you in pleasant conversation after your punishment, it allows us to move past the negativity and re-connect in a positive manner."

"Did you read a lot of psychology and parenting books before agreeing to do this?" Harry asked suspiciously.

Snape smirked. "I imagine that after this, I'll be able to _write_ one. Perhaps several."

Harry's eyes widened. Was that a joke?

"And now," the professor continued, "as I see you have finished the biscuits, it is time for you to return to your dormitory. Remember that you are grounded from flying for the next week, except for supervised classes or quidditch practice. Furthermore, if you engage in any unnecessary aerobatics during those activities, you will be grounded _completely_ for another two weeks."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumpily agreed, getting to his feet. He winced at a twinge in his backside and shot a glare at Snape, using both hands to try to rub away the lingering sting. Snape watched with an amused gleam in his eye, but he didn't actually smirk.

"Well, thanks for the tea," Harry said uncomfortably. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Do not forget to bring your History of Magic essay. I want to review it before you hand it in."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not even due until next week. You're turning me into Hermione!"

"I suspect you will need to make some revisions," Snape replied calmly, "and there is nothing wrong with completing your work ahead of time. Indeed, it is a habit you should cultivate."

"What for? So I can compete in the Biggest Prat Contest? Just because you probably had your assignments completed two seconds after they were assigned –"

"Because once we start working on more advanced DADA topics, you will have less study time available."

Harry's pique evaporated. "More advanced? Really?"

"Yes. You have been making reasonable progress, and I think you are ready to move on. But if your schoolwork starts to slip –"

"It won't!" Harry promised, beaming. He really liked DADA, and Snape was a surprisingly good teacher. He had wholly abandoned the caustic, sarcastic attitude he used in Potions, and while his teaching style would never be warm, he was clear and precise. Harry was enjoying himself and steadily improving.

In a much happier mood, Harry left the dungeons and headed for the Gryffindor tower. As usual, he slipped into a nearby lavatory to check the damage, and as usual, there wasn't much to see. His bum still felt warm and uncomfortable, but other than a faint pink blush, there was no sign of his recent punishment. Harry knew from past experience that by morning, he'd be fine. It made a nice change from previous punishments he'd endured. Uncle Vernon's belt, for one, had left him sore for days. Snape had made it clear that such punishments were abusive, but Harry still wasn't sure how Snape was able to make his backside hurt so much _during_ the spanking, yet not cause long-lasting damage. Harry was positive that when they landed, Snape's slaps stung every bit as much as had the blows from Uncle Vernon's belt, but the pain lasted only minutes, not days. Harry finally shrugged. Maybe it was magic.

He left the dungeons and obediently headed straight to the Gryffindor Tower. He wasn't suicidal enough to defy Snape so soon after being punished by him, and besides, the professor was correct: the tea and biscuits _were_ soothing. Harry was more than ready for bed.

Maybe that's why he didn't hear his attackers until they were already upon him.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Harry was more than ready for bed._

_Maybe that's why he didn't hear them until they were already upon him. _

He first realized something was amiss when a hex hit him from behind and both legs froze. His forward momentum sent him plummeting forward, and he hit the ground hard. Before he could react, a robe was flung over his head from behind and his arms were firmly pinioned behind his back. Another pair of hands snatched away his wand, and someone else grabbed his ankles. It had been perfectly executed – in a matter of seconds, Harry had been blinded, muffled, disarmed, secured, and carried away. He yelled for help, but a hard punch to his stomach left him choking and gagging. He could feel himself being levitated swiftly through the halls, and he frantically wondered what was going to happen. Were these Death Eaters? How had they managed to get inside Hogwarts? Where were they taking him? To Voldemort? Why hadn't they simply killed him outright?

He heard low whispers, but they were nothing more than brief commands. He couldn't make out any voices or identities, beyond the fact that they were male, big, and there were three of them. He was carried up the stairs – where were they taking him? Surely they should have just gone out the main gates and past the wards, but it felt like they had gone up the main stairwell, to the second floor. The levitation spell was abruptly ended, and he hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Hands snatched him up, raising him by his wrists and ankles.

He was swung abruptly back and forth, then thrown high into the air. Airborne, he fought to get free of the cloak that was still wound around his head and upper body, but before he could do so, he hit the ground. And hit again. And again. And again.

He barely had time to realize they had thrown him down the stairs before his head cracked sickeningly against one of the marble steps. After that, he was only dimly aware of his long, agonizing sprawl down the tall staircase. There were various flashes of white hot agony and then a period of nothing. He was groggily coming to, when he felt the cloak roughly jerked from around him and realized he must be at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't move, even if he had wanted to. His glasses had smashed and he could barely make out some shoes in front of him. He didn't dare breathe, let alone moan, lest his awakening be greeted by a kick in the face.

Through the roaring in his ears, he could make out snatches of conversation – though the frequent gaps in meaning suggested that he wasn't nearly as conscious as he had first thought. "…still alive then? He really is tough to kill. Little cockroach."

"…Malfoy… certain?"

Harry felt a rough hand roll him over to slip something into his pocket. The sudden movement was too much for him, and it was a few moments before he swam back to semi-consciousness. "—find it there. The fact we used his wand means that as soon as they get suspicious and check, they'll be sure they found the culprit."

"The little prat will never even know it was gone," one voice chuckled. "First he'll find out about it is when they're expelling him."

"But he'll say he didn't do it. You know he's one of Snape's little favorites, what if that greasy git manages to get him off or starts looking elsewhere?" another whined anxiously.

The first voice spoke up reassuringly. "At the first sign that they think it might not be Malfoy, we'll just grab his wand and snap it. Then they won't have anything to go on. Relax, even if that happens, we'll still have the fun of having seen Precious Potter try to fly without a broom and Malfoy get his wand snapped. That's his great-grandfather's wand. If he loses it, even without being expelled, Lucius will beat the tar out of him."

"It's a shame Potter didn't break his neck, but we can't have everything," said the second voice. "Maybe next time."

"Come on, give him back his wand and let's get out of here. You never know when one of the ghosts will wander by."

Harry felt his wand jammed into his side and couldn't stifle a whimper of pain. The closest form responded with a final punch, right over Harry's kidney. While he was writhing in agony, he heard their feet running away and he began to sob.

Everything hurt. His head, his back, his arms, his legs. He could feel blood running down his face from his nose, and he couldn't move two fingers on his left hand. It took twenty minutes for the pain to abate enough for him to roll over, and another ten before he could get to his feet.

His sobs had finally given way to shuddering breaths which he fought to control as they just made his back and ribs ache more. He took stock of his injuries. As best he could tell, nothing was broken, except maybe the fingers, and even they looked pretty straight. He was certain that his back and legs would be a mass of bruises and when his glasses had snapped into three pieces, they had left behind cuts on his face. Harry managed to repair his glasses with a shaky _Reparo_, and then used a minor healing spell on the cuts. He staggered to the nearest lavatory and, once he had washed away the blood, was satisfied. He looked like death, but he was upright and there were no visible injuries.

He hadn't completely understood what his assailants were saying, but two things were clear: one, they hated him, and two, they hated Draco Malfoy. Harry had a great deal of sympathy for the latter view, he was not about to participate in a plot against anyone, even Draco. Besides, if getting Draco expelled was what those three wanted, then he would do everything in his power to prevent it. His attackers' words made it clear that they planned for Malfoy to take the blame for this assault, and if Harry hadn't happened to overhear the little he had, he probably _would_ have accused Malfoy. He hadn't known that anyone else hated him enough to do something like this.

He took a deep breath and winced as three ribs sharply protested the movement. It was okay. He had survived. That was the important thing. No one else knew about it. That was important too. If he kept his mouth shut, then no one would have reason to interrogate Draco or check his wand. That would make those three good and mad, Harry thought with a vindictive grimace. _Sorry to upset your evil plans, you bastards._

He was relieved that his worst fears – being abducted by Death Eaters – had proven not to be the case, but now he was forced into the unpleasant realization that there were others who hated him enough to try to kill him. _Do other 12 year olds have these problems? _he asked his reflection. _What did I ever do to these people?_

He still had no idea who the three were, but as he lay on the floor and they'd moved about him, he'd caught glimpses of a Slytherin badge, a scarf in Ravenclaw colors, and there had been a serpent pin on the cloak that had been used to engulf him. That meant this wasn't something he could tell Snape about.

Aside from the awkwardness of it – "Here's my essay from Professor Binns, and by the way, two of your House tried to kill me the other night. Can you give them detention or something?" – Harry had plenty of experience watching Snape give his Slytherins a free pass on any and all mischief. Harry couldn't count the number of times that Draco started something with him or Ron in Potions, only to have Snape dock Gryffindor's points while Draco strolled away smirking.

Yes, Snape was being a bit nicer to him now, but Harry knew just how important House loyalty was to him, and he was under no illusions as to where Snape's allegiances would lie in a dispute between himself and two of Snape's little snakes. He was just the Boy Who Lived To Annoy Snape, nothing more than an onerous chore that the Headmaster had assigned him. Harry's only value to Snape – or indeed almost anyone else – was his eventual role in the war with Voldemort. It was for that reason that Snape had agreed to work with him, and since Snape couldn't train him until their relationship improved, he had set about doing that. Harry might not understand much about families, but he did understand the difference between people you choose to be around and people you have to be around. Snape cared about his Slytherins because he wanted to; he cared about Harry because he had to.

Harry understood that. He really did. And he guessed that, if the choice was between not having someone care about you at all and having someone care because they were told to do so, he'd rather have the caring, however forced it might be. Look at the Dursleys. They couldn't care for him under any circumstances. Compared to them, Snape was doing an incredible job of being nice to Harry. There were times when he could almost believe that Snape liked him a little. Of course, Harry knew better, but sometimes it was, well, comforting to pretend that he was down in the dungeons because Snape actually wanted him there, not just because they had to get along so Harry could learn what he needed to know to defeat the Dark Lord.

However, even in his wildest fantasies Harry knew that Snape would never side with a Gryffindor (let alone him) against a Slytherin (let alone two), so telling anyone about the attack would just drive a wedge between them, and that would make it harder for them to train and easier for Voldemort to win. So, Harry sighed, this was going to be another time when he just had to pretend everything was fine. It wasn't like he hadn't had plenty of practice back at the Dursleys, though even they had never done this much damage at once.

Harry grimaced at the mirror. Why did he allow himself to believe that things would change? They didn't, not really. He was still getting hurt, still hiding his bruises, and every day it seemed like more people were out to get him. Yes, he had Ron and Hermione on his side, and they were brilliant, but the three of them were just kids, for Merlin's sake! Where were the stupid adults who were supposed to take care of him? Oh right. They were all dead.

He was stuck with professors who were busy figuring how to use him to defeat an evil wizard so strong that he could torture _Snape_ just for fun. And yet Dumbledore thought that Harry was going to be able to waltz up and kill him – after all, he'd nearly done it once already, right? The fact that Harry was a baby at the time, had no idea what happened, still bore an agonizing scar as a reminder, and had lost both parents in the process didn't seem to worry the Headmaster in the slightest. And why should it? It wasn't like he would be taking on Voldemort; that was Harry's task.

Then there was McGonagall. To be fair, she acted concerned about Harry, but she had a lot on her plate, being the Deputy Head as well as the Gryffindor Head of House, and she seemed to think that all of her charges should be as organized and self-sufficient as she herself was. And who else was there? Hagrid? Flitwick? Sprout? Hooch? Nice people, but all busy with their own lives and responsibilities. The Weasleys? Like they didn't have enough kids of their own to keep them occupied. No, Harry knew that he was on his own, and most times it didn't really bother him. It did annoy him that the adults, while too occupied with their own lives to actually help him, were nevertheless quick to dismiss him as a child and impose limits, withhold information, and just generally drive him crazy. But he figured that just went along with being a kid. Maybe, if he were lucky, his battle with Voldemort wouldn't happen until he'd had the chance to enjoy being an adult, at least for a little while.

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

Ron rolled over sleepily and wondered why Harry was up so early. He hadn't come back to the room until really, really late last night. Ron and Hermione had tried to wait for him, but eventually even they had given up. Ron had managed to crack one eyelid and mumble something when Harry finally came in, but Harry had just mumbled in response and so Ron had quickly fallen back to sleep.

Poor Harry. It wasn't bad enough that he had to spend practically every waking moment with the Black Bat of the Dungeons, but now Dumbledore had gone barking mad and decided that Snape should be allowed to wallop Harry. Making Harry scrub cauldrons and prepare disgusting potion ingredients apparently wasn't enough for the greasy git. He wanted to be able to belt his most hated student as well. Ron rolled his eyes.

If he had been in Harry's shoes, he was sure that his parents would have raised holy hell. His mum would have sent Snape a howler just for proposing that he should be allowed to swat students and his dad would have made sure that the Ministry looked into when exactly the Headmaster had gone barmy. But Harry didn't have anyone to look out for him like that. Ron knew his parents were mad keen on Harry, but it wasn't like they had any legal authority to speak up on his behalf. All they could do was to keep repeating their invitations to adopt Harry, despite Dumbledore's persistent, polite refusals.

Ron still didn't understand why Dumbledore insisted on sending Harry back to the Muggles who treated him so badly. Sure there were the blood wards, but The Burrow was warded too, and there Harry didn't have to worry about his relatives locking him in the cupboard or playing Harry-hunting or starving him or… Ron sighed. He worried about Harry; he really did. There was no one to look out for him, and Harry was _way_ too willing to just accept it and keep quiet when other people treated him badly.

Look how he had refused to tell anyone about the Dursleys until it was practically too late? And those visions of his? He had refused to talk about them at all, just apologized for screaming so loud he'd woken his roommates. He hadn't wanted to tell anyone, worrying that he'd be laughed at or disbelieved or maybe just that no one would care. It had been Neville, incredibly enough, who had forced him to tell Professor McGonagall. Neville's parents had been driven mad by the Dark Lord's followers, and he wasn't about to let anyone else be tortured in front of him.

At first it had seemed like telling the professors had been a good thing. Snape had agreed to tutor Harry, and he'd actually seemed to be getting a little nicer. Harry swore that he was treating him fine, though Ron found that hard to believe. Ron still worried a bit, but he'd been relieved when Harry had explained that most of the time, Snape didn't do anything but scold him or give the usual detention punishments and even when he went _really_ spare, he just smacked Harry on the bum a couple of times.

Ron had kept a close eye on his friend, knowing how much Harry hated to ask for help. He wasn't sure if Harry hated feeling weak or if he felt that he actually deserved it when bad things happened to him, but either way, it meant that Harry was almost insanely reticent. It was even hard to get him to seek treatment for his quidditch injuries, though now that the rest of the team had figured it out, they always made sure someone took Harry to the infirmary. He had to admit, though, he hadn't seen anything that worried him about Snape's treatment of Harry. Yet.

He thought that Harry's claim about the tea and shortbread were a little far-fetched, but Harry had sworn it was true. He'd also sworn that Snape only used the palm of his hand on him, never a belt or cane or even a hairbrush, and that he only whacked his backside, never his face or back or hands. Ron guessed that was okay. Even his own mum had been known to wave around a wooden spoon threateningly, though Ron had noticed that she was awfully careful not to actually connect with it. Well, except for the time that the twins smuggled one of Charlie's baby dragons home and hid it under Percy's bed…

Ron sat up and stretched. Everyone else was still fast asleep, but he decided he'd better check on Harry. After all, he had been pretty worried yesterday. Ron and Harry had been fooling around on the quidditch pitch, and admittedly Harry had been a little reckless in using his broom to demonstrate muggle surfing, but was it really necessary for Snape to materialize like that, yelling about brainless children and dragging Harry off by the scruff of the neck? He'd paused only long enough to assign Ron a two foot essay on injury prevention before disappearing into the dungeons with Harry in tow.

Ron ambled over to the showers, planning to ask what essay topic the greasy git had assigned Harry, when he caught sight of his friend. Harry was in the shower, his back to Ron as he leaned under the running water oblivious to everything but the comforting warmth. For a long moment, Ron could only gape in horror, but then Harry moved to turn off the water, and Ron ducked into the bedroom before Harry noticed him.

Ron reeled over to his bed and all but fell upon it. He was shaking and felt sick. Harry's back was a mass of bruises. From the tops of his shoulders to halfway down his legs, Harry's pale skin was mottled with angry scrapes and darkening bruises. Ron had noticed more bruises on Harry's arms, too. What the _hell_ had Snape done to him?

Neville started to stir, and that galvanized Ron into action. Whatever slim chance he had of getting Harry to talk to him vanished to nothing if the other boys were present. He threw on some clothes and darted out to await Harry in the common room. For once, he even beat Hermione down and he used the time to plan his strategy. He knew his temper often got the best of him, but as livid as he was with Snape, he also knew that if he started yelling, Harry would just shut down. Ron knew that, temper aside, he was good at chess, and he forced himself to think of this situation as he would a difficult chess problem. By the time Harry emerged into the common room fifteen minutes later, Ron was able to muster a convincingly casual greeting.

"Hey, mate – we missed you last night. Was Snape really mad about the flying thing?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "He went mental. It's not like I even fell off or anything. What am I, two years old?"

Ron grinned back at his friend, but he noticed how slowly and carefully Harry was moving. There were no marks on his face – either Harry had used a healing spell or Snape had carefully avoided hitting him where it would show. Ron felt his temper rising and forced it down. "So, what did Snape do to you? Do you have to write an essay too?"

"No, but he took away my broomstick privileges for a week – except for class and practice – and said if I do anything even slightly dangerous during those, then I'll lose it completely for another two weeks." Harry shook his head. "I can't believe him."

"You got off really lightly, then," Ron said, deliberately sounding annoyed. "I wasn't even in the air, and I've got to write an essay."

As he'd predicted, Harry looked guilty. "Well," he admitted, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear, "I didn't get off _that_ easily. Snape – well, he whacked me."

Ron forced himself not to react. "Was it bad?"

Harry shook his head, looking rueful. "No worse than before, really. It mostly stopped hurting even before I left his quarters. When he was swatting me, though, I was sure he was using a blowtorch!" he grinned, inviting Ron to share the joke.

"So just a few smacks on the bum, huh?" Ron pressed. "No real damage?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, you sound like 'Mione. I told you, I'm fine. I don't know how he manages to make it sting so much but for only a short time. I dunno, maybe he uses a charm or something. Is it the same when your folks whack you?"

Ron ignored the question and picked up his robe. Obviously Harry had been lying to him about Snape right from the start, and if he didn't change the subject soon, Ron would lose his temper completely and call Harry on it, and that wouldn't help anything. He paused – one more chance to see if Harry would admit something was up. "Hey, aren't you going to be hot like that? Why don't you go change into a short sleeved shirt? We've got time before breakfast."

"Er, no – I'm fine," Harry stammered. "I don't want to bother. If I'm too hot I can just roll up my sleeves."

"Okay." Ron led the way to the Great Hall for breakfast while Harry started talking about the quidditch team, but he barely heard a word his friend had said. Harry had – as usual –lied through his teeth rather than admit he'd been hurt. Well, fine. If that's how he wanted it to be, then Ron would just take matters into his own hands. Snape might have been able to frighten Harry into silence, but Ron wasn't cowed by the greasy git. He would make sure that Snape learned how very dangerous it was to mess with the Boy Who Lived.

By the time breakfast was over, he had a plan worked out. He needed to do some research first though. He had toyed with the idea of asking Hermione, who would either know the answer right off or could find it in three seconds, but he knew that it would be safer if he were the only one involved. That way, if things went wrong – or even if they went the way he expected – Hermione would still be around to help Harry.

He glanced over to where his two best friends were eating breakfast, or rather where Harry was eating and Hermione was explaining the reading for this morning's Transfigurations class. "Hey, guys," he said, with an exaggerated groan, "I don't feel that great. I think I'm going to go see Madame Pomfrey."

They both stared at him. This sort of behavior was unprecedented. Ron? Willing to go to the infirmary? "Do you want us to come?" Hermione asked, worried. "Do you need help?"

"What is it?" Harry's eyes were dark with concern, and Ron suppressed an exasperated sigh. If only Harry could muster some of that worry on his own behalf.

'I'll be fine," he promised. "See you later."

On his way out, he stopped by the staff table and explained where he was going to Professor McGonagall. Like his friends, she was surprised and concerned and immediately told him not to worry about class. Ron mused pleasantly that virtue was indeed rewarded. If he had ever before tried to skip class by feigning illness, getting away with this would never have been so easy.

He went up to see Madame Pomfrey, knowing he needed to establish an alibi. She too was alarmed at his presence, so at odds with his normal behavior. In fact, she was so convinced that only imminent death would lure him to the infirmary that she actually apologized when her diagnostic scans were negative. "Don't worry, Mr Weasley," she comforted. "The scans aren't infallible. The good news is that they would have caught anything seriously amiss, so with luck this headache of yours will soon pass. Let me get you a pain relieving potion, and then you can lie down."

"Please, Madame, can I go back to my dorm?" Ron asked plaintively. "It's so much more comfortable, and I promise I'll return if I feel worse."

She frowned, but then nodded. "You showed good judgment in coming here when you felt ill, Mr Weasley, so I believe you can be trusted to come back if you need to." Her compliment made him feel rather guilty, but he reminded himself that his actions were necessary.

Moments later, he was on his way back down the stairs, grimacing at the aftertaste of potion in his mouth. He didn't go to his dorm but rather took advantage of the fact that everyone else was in classes to go to the library. Once there, he settled into the potions section and, to his surprise, was able to find what he needed relatively quickly.

_It's really not that hard to do research_, he realized with a start. _You just have to care about the answers. Hermione must have more curiosity than a dozen cats._ Feeling that, for the first time, he had some insight into his best female friend's mind, he went ahead with his plans.

Happily, because he had been excused from Transfigurations, it was easy to get to Potions early and be the first one in the classroom. It took less than a minute to do what he needed, and then he was back at his seat, waiting patiently for the others.

"Ron!" Hermione cried as she entered the classroom. "Are you feeling better? What did Madame Pomfrey say? Does she know you're up?"

"Give him a chance, 'Mione," Harry chided. He too looked delighted to see Ron, but Ron could see how pinched and drawn his features were. Harry was obviously in a lot of pain and finding it hard to hide it. A wave of righteous anger surged over Ron and any doubts he might have harbored about his plan were swept away.

"I'm fine, guys, and yes, Hermione, Madame Pomfrey said I could come to class if I felt better."

"What a shame," Draco Malfoy sneered. "I thought we might have had yet another Weasley-free class."

To his annoyance, the Golden Trio ignored his barb.

Harry shot a glare at Draco, but felt too awful to do anything else. Besides, he was still wondering who would want both him and Draco removed from Hogwarts. Hermione was busy setting out her parchment and quill, and Ron was oddly focused at the front of the room.

Harry stared at his friend quizzically. What was up with Ron today? He'd seemed distracted all morning. Not that it was a bad thing – Ron could be distressingly sharp eyed when it came to Harry's physical condition, and unlike Hermione he was never distracted by classes. Maybe it had to do with the strange headache of his? Well, at least he seemed better now.

Snape swept into the room, slamming the classroom door behind him and making the students jump. "Eyes up, mouths shut, quills ready!" he commanded, sweeping to the front of the room and standing in front of his demonstration table. He glared at the class, daring anyone to so much as breathe. No one did.

"Today you will be making Far Seeing Potion, which enhances vision remarkably. It is particularly valuable when you wish to observe without being physically present," Snape lectured.

"Guess we know why a former spy likes it," Harry whispered to Ron, with a nudge. To his surprise, Ron didn't respond. For once, he seemed completely focused on Snape.

Snape continued to lecture about the uses and ingredients of the potion as the class busily took notes. He was a little disconcerted by Weasley's close attention. Usually the redhead was too busy daydreaming or exchanging insults with Malfoy to pay any mind to demonstrations. Was there something about this potion that was of particular interest to him?

If this were the twins, Snape would have felt much more concern, as their predilection for pranks as well as their talent for adapting potions to non-standard uses usually meant that an expression of interest on their part meant trouble on the horizon. But even Snape had to admit that the youngest Weasely brother had never seemed particularly interested in pranks and mischief, or at least no more than any other 12 year old. He shrugged, dismissing the issue. Who could hope – or want – to understand what went through children's minds?

Ron's attention focused sharply as Snape moved to add the next to last ingredient. "While you continue to stir counter-clockwise, you slowly drip in the pureed lizard tongue," Snape explained, sternly eyeing the class to be sure they were writing it down. "Do not cease stirring until –"

"SIR!" It was that idiot Longbottom, standing up and making choking noises of distress.

"What is it, Longbottom?" Snape snapped, not stopping his stirring. What could be wrong? "Stop gobbling and speak!"

"Sir, your potion!" Now Granger was on her feet, eyes wide.

Snape looked down. To his astonishment, the potion, which should have been a lovely aquamarine at this stage, was an angry purple-black. As he looked, it began to boil and the cauldron twitched ominously. He opened his mouth to vanish the brew, but it was already too late. He heard the Weasley boy yell, "_Protego!_" just as the cauldron exploded.

The force of the blast threw Snape backwards to slam sickeningly against the wall. He slid bonelessly to the ground, unconscious. Ron's shout had erected a shield across the front of the class, protecting the students from the force of the explosion as well as the unknown effects of the potion.

For a moment, all was deathly still. None of the students could believe their eyes. Had _Snape_ actually messed up a potion? It was Neville who finally broke the stillness with a whimper, "Is he dead?"

That did it;. Screams, crying, and chaos ensued until Hermione shouted everyone down. "Neville, Blaise! Go to the Hospital and get Madame Pomfrey. Harry – fetch the Headmaster. Ron, Millie, go find the nearest teachers and bring them here. Draco, come help me with the professor."

Her careful assignments of Slytherins with Gryffindors ensured that the tasks were carried out quickly. She hurried to the professor's side, a suspicious Draco a step behind her. "What are you doing?" he demanded. The rest of his House stood on their desks to see what Granger and Malfoy were doing to their Head.

"I'm making sure he's breathing," she snapped. "Help me wipe some of this potion off him. I don't know what it will do to him."

Grudgingly, Draco acknowledged the sense of her words, and snatched some rags from the desktop.

"Here!" Nott warned, fetching them dragonhide gloves. "Don't get it on yourselves either."

"Typical Gryffindor, always rushing in to play the hero without any thought of their own safety," Malfoy jeered, but it was a feeble attempt. He was too worried about his Head of House to waste much effort on insults. Besides, only Granger seemed to know what to do.

Neville and Blaise arrived with Pomfrey at the same instant Harry came back with Dumbledore. By then, Ron and Millie had fetched Professor Flitwick, so the earlier panic had been replaced by wide eyed whispers.

Dumbledore took control while Pomfrey and Flitwick levitated the still unconscious Snape off to the infirmary. After quizzing the confused students on what they had witnessed, he dismissed the class, pausing only to award each House 10 points for working together in a crisis and 20 points to Hermione for thinking clearly and getting help for Professor Snape. That led to an unusual détente between Slytherin and Gryffindor as the students left the dungeons.

The Slytherins headed to their Common Room to await news of the Head of House, but when the Gryffindors headed to their own tower, Ron called them back. "Hey, we've got some unexpected free time. Who's up for flying?"

"Really, Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Isn't that a bit heartless? Taking advantage of Professor Snape's accident to go flying? Besides, I think we should use the time to study."

Unsurprisingly, this was a minority view, and in no time, everyone was heading to the empty quidditch pitch. Ron had even managed to persuade Neville to come along. "You'll never improve if you don't practice, mate," he coaxed. "And Harry and I will help, honest."

Flattered by the attention, Neville quickly agreed, and soon practically everyone was on their brooms. Even Hermione came along, unwilling to be the odd man out. Harry, earthbound both by Snape's punishment and his own injuries, used the former to hide the latter and devoted himself to coaching Neville.

Neville was indeed improving. This time, it took him nearly an hour before he fell off, and he was low enough so that the fall only knocked the wind out of him. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were instantly at his side.

"Damn!" Ron swore. "I'll get Madame Pomfrey!"

"Actually, I think he's okay," Harry said, eyeing Neville carefully. The blonde boy couldn't talk yet, but he managed to nod his head.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" Hermione asked worriedly, once again falling into first aid mode.

"It's all my fault he got hurt," Ron declared. "I'm not taking any chances. I'll be back with Pomfrey!"

He took off for Hogwarts at a dead run. So far, everything was going exactly according to plan. He had known that as soon as you put Neville within ten paces of a broom, Madame Pomfrey's services would eventually be required. He felt guilty at taking advantage of the boy's good nature and using Neville's clumsiness as a means of getting to the infirmary, but he firmly squashed such regrets. It wasn't like Neville would ever know he had been used, and Ron _had_ been able to help him with his flying.

He burst through the infirmary doors, flushed and panting from the long run up. "Madame! Neville – quidditch pitch – broomstick – fell!" he panted. His heaving chest and gasping explanation made things seem much worse than they were… just as he had planned.

"Oh, Merlin!" Poppy exclaimed. She snatched up her emergency kit and ran out, pausing only long enough to caution Ron to catch his breath before coming back.

That was just what he had planned. He glanced cautiously around the infirmary. The earlier excitement had obviously calmed down. The other teachers had long since left, and the only other person present was Professor Snape, lying quietly in a bed off to one side.

Once he was sure the two of them were alone, Ron took out his wand and concealed it behind him. "Professor?" he said softly, approaching the man's bedside. "Are you awake?"

Snape growled deep in his throat. "Well, I am _now_, Weasley," he snapped, opening his eyes and glaring at the boy. "Have you satisfied your curiosity enough to leave me al – ack!"

As soon as it was clear that Snape was awake and alert, Ron snapped his wand forward. "_Petrificus totalis_!" An instant later, and he had set up a silencing charm over their section of the infirmary so that even if someone arrived, seeking the medi-witch, they wouldn't overhear what Ron was about to say.

Ron stepped forward, making sure his wand was clearly visible. Snape was, of course, paralyzed, but his eyes were alight with shock and fury. "Well, _Professor_," Ron sneered, making the title an insult, "I'm sure you're wondering what's going on. Have you figured out how you managed to explode a cauldron? Everyone's saying that even Neville hasn't managed to make that big a mess yet." Ron grinned at the chagrin and rage in the man's eyes. "I bet it'll be Hermione who figures out that there must have been some adder venom in the cauldron in order for it to blow up that violently." Snape's eyes clouded with confusion then calculation. Ron watched him working it out. "Yes, Professor, that would explain the events, wouldn't it? Have you also figured out how the venom got there? No? Well, that would be me." He snorted at Snape's expression. "Okay, I know I'm not the best potions student, but really, it was easy to figure out how to sabotage your demonstration. I mean, all the textbooks describe what not to do and they give such graphic descriptions of how things can go wrong that it's really pretty easy to make those things happen deliberately.

"All I had to do was to get to class a little early and coat your stirring rod with the venom. It was dry in less than a minute, and you didn't notice a thing. Then it was just a question of time before the venom dissolved back into the solution as you stirred it, and … boom!" He smiled at Snape, but it wasn't a very nice smile. "I bet your back must be hurting a lot. You really hit the wall hard. If it wasn't stone, I bet you'd have gone straight through the wall into the next classroom."

Snape's mind was working furiously. Had someone possessed the boy? How could this dunderheaded Gryffindor have come up with such a positively Slytherin plan, let alone carried it out so flawlessly? An Imperious curse wouldn't work for such a complex series of actions unless imposed by someone like Voldemort himself, but nothing – _nothing_ – in the boy's past had suggested that he would be able to do something like this, let alone want to do so. And now, why on earth was he here, gloating and explaining things like some ridiculous villain in a Muggle movie? A true Slytherin would never have disclosed his methods, and a true Gryffindor would never have embraced such a brilliantly sneaky plan in the first place.

It was true that Weasley had always made his dislike for Snape abundantly clear, but to be fair, most of his loathing stemmed from Snape's treatment of Harry. Now that Snape was being kinder – well, less awful – to Harry, Ron's sudden attack was all the more inexplicable.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Ron said suddenly, eyeing the professor with utter disgust. He'd been watching the man think and had followed his thoughts with unexpected perception. "You still don't have any idea why. It was such a little thing to you, you can't even be bothered to remember."

Now Snape was really confused. What could possibly have set Weasley off? He obviously wasn't talking about anything that happened in class today – by his own admission, Ron had set up the attack before class even began. But before that … He scrambled to think of the last time he'd seen Weasley.

Oh, yes – he had been with Potter at the quidditch pitch. But being assigned a two foot essay was hardly reason to attempt to murder your professor, and Snape hadn't even browbeaten the boy, so Weasley could hardly be referring to some off-handed insult that had unintentionally cut too deep.

"I should have used more venom and made sure you were _really_ hurt," Ron hissed. Snape was startled at the growing hatred in his eyes. "You utter bastard, you don't even care how much you hurt him. He's just beneath your notice, isn't he?"

What? Who? Who could Weasley be talking about? He'd said "him", so it couldn't be Granger – not that Snape (or any other professor) had ever had too negative an encounter with the Gryffindor know-it-all. Snape knew Potter was fine when he left last night, so whom did that leave? One of Weasley's brothers? _Longbottom?_

"Well, Professor, it's clear that you couldn't care less how much you hurt Harry, and now that Dumbledore has lost his mind and said it's okay for you to hit him, I guess you feel pretty safe using Harry as a punching bag. Is this all some elaborate way to get you back in with You-Know-Who? Is that why Dumbledore decided it was okay for you to beat up Harry? So that you can go back to being a spy? Or is this whole thing You-Know-Who's idea and you've managed to fool Dumbledore? I knew someone like you would never _really_ work for the Light!"

Ron visibly restrained himself. "But you know what? It doesn't matter. I don't care if you're doing this for Dumbledore, or for You-Know-Who, or just because you're a sick arsehole who likes to punch kids who can't fight back. You know Harry won't do anything to mess up his training – he knows that everyone's depending on him to defeat You-Know-Who, and so he just keeps his mouth shut and takes it rather than risk not learning the one thing that would help him defeat the Dark. Well, I've got news for you. Dumbledore and the others may not care, but Harry's got a lot of friends who do. And Potions is a very, very dangerous class. Isn't that what you're always telling us?

"So listen up, Professor. The next time you lay a finger on Harry, something else will blow up. And you won't be so lucky the next time. Don't you need _both_ hands to be a Potions Master?" Snape was taken aback by the boy's low, menacing hiss – it was an unconscious copy of his own, and he had to admit it was quite effective. Who would have thought the youngest Weasley boy had so much Slytherin in him?

"And don't think that getting rid of me will stop it. I meant what I said, Harry has a lot of friends here, and they're not just in Gryffindor. Kids in Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff – even a few of your snakes, believe it or not. So even if you have me expelled, you'll never again be able to feel safe in your classroom or your dungeon. No one knows I'm here, Professor, especially not Harry, but I promise you, before I leave school, I will make sure that everyone knows about you and how you treat Harry, and he _will _be protected from you. So the choice is yours, Professor. Is beating up Harry worth blowing up?" Ron got to his feet with one last threatening glare. "Right now this matter is between you and me, Professor. It's up to you whether it stays that way."

Ron headed to the door, but paused for one final shot, "You're always telling us how dumb we are and how smart you are," he said to Snape. "I bet you feel pretty stupid right now, though." And with a smirk that would have been right at home on the Potion Master's face, he exited, leaving Snape frozen on the bed.

Snape didn't waste any energy fuming at the indignity of what had just happened. He knew that eventually the spell confining him would wear off or Poppy would come back and figure out something was amiss. He was too busy trying to decipher the Weasley boy's words. The threat was clear – he would face more sabotage and more attacks if Potter came to any harm. He just couldn't understand what had motivated such a threat.

Yes, he had dragged Potter away under the Weasley boy's nose, and yes, he had punished him once he got him back to the dungeons, but to claim he had used him as a punching bag was absurd. He hadn't even verbally slapped around the little brat – he had long since learned that Potter only became angry and defiant when he was belittled. By contrast, if the "more in sorrow than in anger" approach was used, he promptly dissolved into a repentant puddle of snot and tears.

Snape was Slytherin enough to use whatever worked best, and he had laid it on thick last night, pointing out that Harry was looked up to by the other children, that the first years might emulate his dangerous stunts, that putting himself in harm's way was a slap in the face to the people who were working so hard to keep him safe, that he, Severus, was very disappointed in him, that it would have frightened Minerva and Hermione if they had seen him, that the Weasleys would have been devastated if Ron, trying to keep up with the better flyer, had mimicked Harry and hurt himself…

By the end of the lecture, Snape was feeling nauseous at all the sentimentality and Harry was dripping with tears and remorse. Administering a half-dozen brisk swats after that was practically overkill. He had been done it as much to safeguard his own reputation for severity as to drive the point home for Harry.

But "beat him up"? By no stretch of the imagination could anyone seriously consider that smacking a brutal punishment. Oh, Potter had yelped his way through it, but Snape had, over his years as a Death Eater, become quite the connoisseur of screams. He was well able to distinguish between screams of terror, pain, anguish, agony, and fear, and he knew perfectly well when a child was howling because he was being punished, as opposed to howling because of the punishment. In fact, Snape had been rather pleased by the boy's loud yelps. Harry had had plenty of experience keeping silent in the face of truly vicious treatment from his disgusting relatives. The fact that he would carry on so was a sign that he was coming to terms with the fact that those Muggles were the aberrant freaks, not him, and that he had every right to complain when something unpleasant was done to him. He was allowed to express himself, to object to someone's treatment of him, and to expect a certain amount of consideration.

Besides, the fact that the brat had demolished an entire plateful of shortbread barely five minutes after the spanking suggested that neither his backside nor his pride had been that seriously wounded.

While there had been plenty of tears and whimpers and yips, there was not a single sob. Snape had no intention of physically punishing Harry until he broke down. That was the last thing the boy needed. Limits, yes. Consequences, yes. But the infliction of pain until he completely lost his composure? Hardly. Besides, if Snape wasn't able to reduce Potter to tears with a few reproving words, he was unfit to be the Head of Slytherin. It was hard to imagine a boy more starved for affection and eager to please than Potter, and while snide insults were counterproductive – he'd been too exposed to those by the Muggles – sorrowful reproaches worked like a charm. Why would Snape waste effort and hurt his own hand when there was no need?

Had Potter been upset last night? Definitely. Humiliated? Slightly. Repentant? Highly. Indignant? Mildly. Sore? Briefly. Resentful? No. On that, Snape would have taken his oath, yet what other excuse could there be for Weasley's behavior? Potter, that thrice-damned little brat, must have decided to spin a fantastic tale for the benefit of his gullible little friends, painting Snape as the evil, hard-fisted tyrant and himself as the poor stalwart Gryffindor subjugated by the wicked Slytherin. Obviously, admitting that he had been reduced to tears by a stern scolding and a few sharp smacks on the bum was unacceptable to The Boy Who Lived. Like that idiot Lockhart, he had to embellish the truth and ensure that his reputation was untarnished by the actions of a snarky professor. It was much better to be the innocent victim of a vicious Death Eater's brutal assault than a small boy with a stinging bottom who had whimpered through a richly deserved spanking.

Snape set the issue of Weasley's attack to the side for the moment. It was Potter, that little wretch, whom he would deal with first. Snape took a deep breath, feeling Weasley's spell begin to fade, and began plotting his revenge.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

That evening, the summons to the Headmaster's office really didn't surprise Ron. He'd deliberately gone to his room alone, so that he wouldn't be forced to undergo tedious questioning by his friends when the summons arrived. Both of them would have a stroke if they found out what he'd done: Harry would be furious that he had put himself at risk on Harry's behalf. Hermione would be furious that he hadn't asked her for help. And both would be hurt that he hadn't confided in them. But that was exactly the point: Ron _couldn't_ involve them. The likelihood of being expelled was just too great.

He had more or less assumed that, after his confession, Snape would instantly demand his expulsion, but he had had no choice but to confess. Snape had to understand why the cauldron had exploded in order for the threat to be effective, and that meant Ron had to admit what he had done. There was little chance that the evil bat wouldn't then use the confession to get Ron kicked out of school, though he would not necessarily share Ron's motivation with the Headmaster.

Ron knew that his parents, once they heard the whole story, wouldn't be that upset with him, but he was pretty sure that Dumbledore wouldn't excuse his actions regardless of what Snape had done to Harry. After all, Dumbledore was the one who had sanctioned Snape's treatment of Harry in the first place. And hadn't Harry's first Hogwarts letter been addressed to him in the cupboard under the stairs? Obviously the Headmaster and the other teachers knew about Harry's mistreatment at the hands of the Dursleys, yet they did nothing. Why would they then do anything to protect him here at school?

Ron sighed. Better to keep it a matter among the students. If he was expelled tonight, he'd tell Hermione everything before he left – or in a worst case, he'd owl her afterwards. She could pick up where he left off, and Merlin only knew what inventive ways _she_ would come up with to torment Snape. And even if she wasn't willing to risk expulsion, she could enlist the other kids, like Seamus. Or he could just tell the twins – they'd take care of Snape, all right!

He walked slowly to Dumbledore's office. No reason to rush. He looked around. Oh, he'd be back for his siblings' graduations, but he was definitely going to miss the place. He realized that he would be the first Weasley in generations to complete his education elsewhere, and he had to swallow hard to force down the lump in his throat. It was for Harry, he reminded himself fiercely. To make him safe. Ron had so much compared to Harry – a family that loved him, friends both at Hogwarts and at home, no "KILL ME" scar on his forehead… Merlin knew Harry had a tough enough time of it, Ron was just glad there was something he'd been able to do to help his friend.

He knocked and entered, unsurprised to see Snape sitting back on Dumbledore's couch, a sardonic gleam in his eye.

"Hello, Ron," the Headmaster said kindly. "Sit down, my boy. Lemon drop?"

Ron shrugged and accepted. It would probably be the last one he ever got. Maybe he should keep it as a souvenir.

"Well, Severus, now that we are all assembled, perhaps we can begin?"

"Very well, Headmaster. I would like Potter to tell us –"

Ron's head snapped around. Sure enough, there was Harry, sitting to one side and looking somewhat bewildered to be there. "Leave him out of this!" Ron leapt to his feet, furious. "I told you he had nothing to do with it!"

"Now, now –" Dumbledore began and was completely ignored.

"Sit down, Weasley!" Snape snarled dangerously, though for once he didn't try to get up and loom over the student. It was clear that he was far from fully healed from his earlier injuries. "We are not discussing _your_ little indiscretion. Yet."

Ron sputtered to a stop, his head swinging between Snape and Dumbledore in confusion. "What? Then why --?"

"Sit down and be quiet, before I decide to use your tongue in a potion," Snape ordered coldly. "Potter!" Harry jumped in his seat, then – almost imperceptibly – winced. Ron saw it and got angrier at Snape for his brutality. Snape saw it and grew angrier at Harry for his manipulation. Dumbledore saw it and wondered what in Merlin's name was going on.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice angrier than Harry had heard it in a long time, "you are going to answer my questions and if you lie, I promise you, you will be a very sorry Potter."

"You bastard!" Ron yelled. "Don't you threaten him!"

Now Harry and Dumbledore were staring at Ron in utter shock, while Snape grinned humorlessly. "What did I tell you about your tongue, Mr Weasley? _Sil—_"

"Enough!" Dumbledore hastily intervened. He was pretty sure that Severus had merely been going to cast _Silencio_, but in the Potion Master's present mood, Dumbledore wasn't about to take any chances. "Ronald, you will sit down and remain silent. I am appalled at both your language and your disrespect."

The Headmaster was then doubly shocked by the look of contempt Ron directed at him before sullenly throwing himself back into his chair. What had he done to deserve that?

Harry was as bewildered by all this as was the Headmaster. He'd been studying with Hermione, counting the minutes until he could escape to his bed without attracting undue attention, when a house elf had appeared and brought him directly to the Headmaster's office. No explanation had been given for the summons, nor was one provided when he arrived. The Headmaster had merely smiled, offered him a ubiquitous lemon drop, and said that Professor Snape had something urgent to discuss. Harry had obediently turned to Snape and been badly shaken by the expression on the man's face. Snape hadn't looked this angry since Neville had melted three cauldrons in a single class, and Harry couldn't even remember the last time Snape had directed such a glare at _him_. It threw him back to last year, when he had been certain that Snape loathed and despised him. "P-Professor?" he'd managed to gulp, but Snape had only waved him to a chair and snapped that they were still waiting for someone.

When Ron had arrived, Harry's confusion only deepened. What could be wrong? He and Ron hadn't done anything wrong since yesterday's adventures with the brooms, and they'd already been punished for that. Even yesterday, Snape hadn't seemed _this_ angry about it, so why was he so incandescent with rage now?

"Potter, what did you tell Weasley about our encounter last night?"

Whatever Harry was expecting, this wasn't it. He stared dumbly at Snape for a moment, then seeing the man get even angrier, he stuttered out a reply. "I – I just said that you'd been angry," he offered lamely, trying to remember his exact words. Hadn't he called Snape mental? But surely that wasn't enough of an insult to warrant this level of fury.

"And?"

Harry felt the red creeping up his ears. "And that you had – erm – punished me."

"And tell Mr Weasley: precisely _how_ did I punish you?"

Harry suddenly found his thumb intensely interesting. Snape felt a savage rush of vindication. Here it came. The little liar having to confess his sins and eat his words. "You hit me."

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Be specific, Potter. Very, very specific."

Harry took a deep breath and forced the words out. "You spanked me. I told Ron that you spanked me." At Snape's growl, Harry reluctantly added, "With your hand. Over my trousers. Six swats."

Snape glanced over at Ron triumphantly, but saw only a look of sadness and pity on the boy's face as he watched his friend.

"Sir? Professor Snape, why – why are you asking me this?" Harry ventured.

"Because, Potter, it seems that _someone_," Snape stressed sarcastically, "is convinced that I am unfit to be alone with you."

Harry's jaw dropped and he stared at the Headmaster. "What? But, sir, that's not true!"

Dumbledore looked equally befuddled. "Well, that's very nice to hear, Harry," he began uncertainly.

Ron shot him a deadly glare. "I thought you were supposed to be such a great wizard," he snarled, once again bringing the conversation to a screeching halt.

"Ron!" Harry gaped at him in horror. "What are you doing!"

"Harry, I can't stand it anymore!" Ron yelled back at him. "You've got to tell him!" The famous Weasley temper had finally broken free. Harry's habitual lies, Dumbledore's all-too-willing acceptance of them, and Snape's sneer of triumph had been too much. "Harry, tell him the truth!"

Harry stared at his friend in complete confusion. He knew Ron didn't much care for Snape. Unlike Hermione, who could appreciate the man's talent in the Potions lab, Ron just thought he was a greasy git with no redeeming features whatsoever. But he had never seemed to _hate_ the man before. Now, though, from the way Ron was glaring at Snape, there was no doubt about it. Ron looked like he would be capable of casting an Unforgiveable at him.

"What's wrong, Ron?" Harry tried to think of what Snape might have done to get Ron so angry. It couldn't be the two foot essay, so what could have happened between the two of them?

"Harry, tell him! Just tell him!" Ron shouted in frustration. Misinterpreting Harry's blank look, Ron groaned in dismay. "Please, Harry, just lift your shirt," he begged. "Please!"

Ha! A way to prove just what a fraud Potter was. Snape leaned forward. "Yes, Potter," he purred, "lift your shirt." The expression of incredulous horror on Potter's face signaled sweet victory. Obviously Potter had claimed Snape's beating had left him black and blue, and Weasley, the moron, had believed him. Now Potter had realized that he was about to be revealed as the despicable little liar that he was.

Harry stared at Ron in utter dismay. How did he know? Harry had been so careful – He couldn't show anyone, especially not Snape and Dumbledore. The Headmaster would demand details, which Harry couldn't provide, not without fingering two members of Snape's own house. If he did, the Potion Master would insist that he was lying and Dumbledore would get that patient look in his eye, and then Snape would start yelling about what a freak Harry was and how the entire house of Gryffindor wasn't worth a single Slytherin, and it would just go downhill from there. Their fragile truce would be shattered beyond repair, Harry would never be able to learn occlumency or DADA, Voldemort would win, and the world would end – all because of Harry and his inability to keep quiet.

"Ron," he whispered, clenching his fists so hard the knuckles shone white, "shut it!"

"Please, Harry!" Ron begged, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He knew how hard it was for Harry to admit when someone mistreated him. He knew it was unfair of him to have exposed his friend's secret like this. But if only Harry would speak up for himself, Dumbledore might feel forced to do something, and then Ron's sacrifice wouldn't have been in vain. "Please, Harry. I saw, okay? You need to tell. You can't let him treat you like that, mate. It's just wrong."

"You didn't see anything, Ron," Harry hissed. "Nothing!"

By now, Snape had begun to realize that there was something amiss. Weasley had claimed to have _seen_ fictitious marks on Potter? Could the brat have placed a glamour on himself to support his claims? But why go to such lengths? Something wasn't right. "Potter," Snape ordered again, "lift your shirt."

Harry jerked his head up, his eyes hunted. "No!"

"Potter!"

"Harry," the Headmaster intervened gently, "it seems there is some question as to your well being. You know how much I care about you. I'm afraid I must ask you to do as Professor Snape and Mr Weasley request."

He'd been an idiot. He should have just begged, borrowed, or stolen some healing potions from somewhere. Then no one would have been the wiser. But he'd been too concerned about getting caught – and now look at him. Caught in a much worse position!

Harry clenched his jaw mutinously. They were all determined that he would show them? Well, he was just as determined that he wouldn't. He had to get out of here, get himself healed, then they wouldn't be able to prove anything. "O – okay," he pretended to fumble with his robe for a moment, then as the others relaxed at his seeming surrender, he bolted for the door.

With surprise on his side, he managed to make it across the threshold before his arm was snatched and he was painfully jerked to a halt. "NO! NO! NO!" he yelled, twisting and fighting for all he was worth. Admittedly it wasn't much, given how bruised and sore he was, but apparently Snape wasn't feeling much better either, because he let out an involuntary exclamation of pain as Harry's gyrations jerked him off balance.

Snape tightened his grip on the little monster's arm and dragged him back into Dumbledore's office. When Potter had sprinted for freedom, Weasley and the Headmaster had been caught flat-footed. Snape, by virtue of having gotten to know the boy over the past few months, had been instantly suspicious when that look of stubborn defiance had been supplanted by meek submission. Sure enough, Potter had made a break for it, and Snape had been sufficiently slowed down by his own injuries that the boy had nearly gotten away.

Now Potter was screaming like a banshee and fighting as if Snape were Voldemort himself. His patience, never very abundant at the best of times, had been seriously eroded by his own pain and fatigue, and when Harry's latest bid for freedom nearly jolted his arm from its socket, Snape lost his temper. "Stop it!" he snapped, bringing his other hand down hard across Harry's backside.

He was completely unprepared for the cry of genuine pain the slap wrung out of Potter and for Weasley's reaction to it.

"Don't you hurt him again, you bastard!" Ron cried, leaping onto Snape's back, punching him and yanking at his hair.

Snape barely bit back a cry of his own as Weasley's not inconsiderable weight slammed against his own injuries, and it was all he could do to keep hold of Harry.

"ENOUGH!" The most powerful wizard in the room finally lost his last twinkle. A second later, invisible hands flung the three combatants into their respective chairs, hard enough to make them all yelp.

Harry struggled to get to the door again, but the next instant he realized a sticking hex was holding him down. Oh. Well, at least they wouldn't be able to see his injuries this way.

"That is quite enough!" The Headmaster, for once, was furious. "Severus, what on earth are you thinking to brawl with students?" Snape gasped in outrage but catching the steely glint in Dumbledore's eye, he decided discretion was the better part of valor and forbore argument. "Mr Weasley, your language and conduct have been atrocious since you first arrived. And now, attacking a professor?" Ron couldn't help letting out a half-laugh, half-sob at that remark. Obviously, the greasy git hadn't yet shared the whole story with the Headmaster. Snape smirked at him, while Dumbledore gave the boy an odd look but let it pass. "Harry," he said, moving over to the third seated figure. His voice was noticeably softer than it had been with the other two. "it is clear that something is very wrong. Won't you please tell me what it is?"

Harry just closed his eyes, holding back the tears, and shook his head.

"Harry, please? I want to help you."

Dumbledore sighed when another mute headshake was his only response. "Harry, I must insist. I am very worried about you. Now, I can have Madame Pomfrey come and do a diagnostic spell, or you can show us yourself, but I _will_ have an answer."

Two tears slipped out from under the boy's lashes, but he refused to speak.

Snape was beginning to worry. Dumbledore's approach should have worked. "Potter," he spoke up, conscious of the Headmaster's sharp gaze, "you must tell us what's wrong." He made his voice calm and neutral, belying the anxiety that he felt, not to mention the pain.

That got the boy to glance at him, and not in a particularly friendly way. "You _don't_ want me to tell," he said flatly.

"Ha! I knew it!" Ron said, only to be glared into silence by everyone else in the room.

"Harry," Snape used his first name deliberately, "why would you think that?"

"Just – just trust me, all right? I _can't_ tell."

"Harry, are you protecting someone?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

Harry looked up at him in sudden hope. That was it! Surely Dumbledore wouldn't ask him to put anyone else in jeopardy! "Yes. I can't tell or someone innocent will get hurt."

"Someone innocent has already gotten hurt, Potter," Snape said, his teeth clenched. "It is obvious to everyone in this room that you have been injured, and the general consensus is that I am the person responsible."

"What? But that's not true!" Harry's eyes flew open in shock and he stared at his professor in dismay. Ron's stomach fluttered at the look of undeniable horror on Harry's face. It couldn't be…

Harry stared at Snape. "Someone said you had hurt me? But – but you didn't!"

"I was seen dragging you off to the dungeons and by your own admission, I struck you," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you expect the Headmaster to think?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "But it wasn't him, sir! Honest!" He looked away for a moment, then back with a look of relief. "I just fell down the stairs."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter. If you're going to lie, at least try to make it believable."

"I did fall!" Harry snapped. "It's true!"

"Harry, if it were true, why didn't you seek help immediately thereafter? Why all this silence? Who is it you're protecting?" The Headmaster's eyes were kind but implacable, and Harry looked away. "Harry, you must see that this cannot go on any longer. Professor Snape does not deserve to have yet more unjust suspicions leveled against him. Stand up, and show us what it is you are concealing."

Harry's shoulders slumped, but the Headmaster's last argument was a telling one. He couldn't be the cause of still more accusations against Snape, not after he'd treated him so well for the last several weeks. He rose painfully, barely noticing how effortlessly Dumbledore had canceled the hex, and took off his robes. He hesitated one last time, then turned his back on the others and slowly removed his shirt.

Snape's jaw dropped when he saw the bruises on Harry's back, and the icy lump in Ron's belly grew. Surely no one, even Snape, could be that good an actor.

"Harry," suddenly Dumbledore sounded much older, "I'm sorry to ask, but I need to see the rest of your body."

Harry seemed to hunch in on himself, then he sighed and lowered his trousers, confirming that the dreadful marks covered him. Snape and Dumbledore went over and examined the small boy. A quick tug at the waistband of his underwear allowed them to glimpse the bruising over his backside, and Snape regretted the flare of temper that had led him to land a smack there.

Dumbledore didn't even flick his wand, but an instant later, Harry's trousers were back in place, and Snape turned him around. "Who did this to you?" he demanded, his voice tight.

Harry looked away. "I fell."

Snape's lips thinned. "Who pushed?"

Harry glanced back at him, then away. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Potter, you have been the victim of a vicious assault. Don't tell me not to worry about it!" Snape snapped, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulders. "Now who did this?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. He looked particularly defiant, which Snape now knew meant that he was acutely miserable.

"Do not make things any worse by lying," Snape scolded him. "If this is the way you respond to concern and caring –"

Harry snorted and jerked away.

Now that was interesting. It had been a while since Harry had responded disbelievingly to a statement of Snape's concern for him. What had made him revert to old behaviors, when he was convinced that Snape couldn't care less about him? Snape eyed him calculatingly. "It's not like it's difficult to deduce, Potter. Who hates you enough to do such a thing?" He saw the boy's shoulders flinch. "It would hardly be one of your fellow Gryffindors, and a Hufflepuff wouldn't have the guts. You insisted that _I _wouldn't want the truth known, so a Slytherin must be involved. So –"

"Draco!" Ron gasped. He hadn't spoken for a while, too consumed with the realization that he had made a terrible, dreadful, unforgiveable, and irretrievable mistake. But now, as the conversation around him sank into his consciousness, he realized there could be only one person who fit the description.

"No!" Harry shouted.

Snape regarded him thoughtfully. "Is that why you didn't want to tell me, Potter? Because Draco –"

"It wasn't Draco!' Harry yelled, tears starting to his eyes. His worst nightmare was coming true. It was all happening just like his attackers wanted, and now – thanks to him – they would never believe a word he said. He'd messed it all up, and now he wouldn't even be able to save Draco. "That's just what they want you to believe!"

"Who are 'they', Potter?" Snape demanded, and Harry groaned, realizing that this wasn't going to get any better. He slumped down on the couch, his head in his hands.

"I can't tell."

"Did they threaten you?"

"Not me."

"Who? Ron? Hermione?" Weasley looked shocked, then appalled.

Harry shook his head.

"Who then?"

Harry looked up at him, his face drawn with pain and despair. "Draco."

Snape blinked. "They threatened Draco Malfoy? And you wouldn't say anything in order to protect _him_?"

Harry held back a sob. "They set him up. Draco. They made it look like it must be him, and even if you think it isn't and start looking then they'll still be able to hurt him. And now you won't believe me, and it's all been for nothing."

Snape seated himself next to the distraught boy and, much to his dismay, found himself gingerly placing an arm around his shoulders. "While I admit that your recent behavior has hardly enhanced your reputation for truthfulness, Mr Potter, there is a certain," he sighed, "dunderheaded nobility to your actions that makes them difficult to doubt."

To his surprise, this reassurance failed to lighten the boy's mood. "It's all ruined. Everything."

"What is ruined, Potter?" Snape asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"Everything. You're gonna hate me, the lessons will stop, and Voldemort will win."

Snape and Dumbledore exchanged an amused look at the adolescent melodrama. "I wouldn't concede defeat just yet, Mr Potter. Tell me why you think I will hate you."

Harry shut his eyes. Here it came. He knew Snape didn't really care about him. He _knew_ it. But it was still going to hurt when he took his Slytherins' side. Steeling himself against the insults which would soon start flying, he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak.

"There were three of them. The ones who attacked me. All boys. One was from Ravenclaw – I saw his scarf. The other two were from Slytherin, I don't know any of their names." Harry trailed off drearily. Here it came.

But all Snape said was, "And why did you say they set up Draco?"

Harry dug one hand into his pocket. "They put this button in my coat – I think it's off something of Draco's. It's got his initials on it. And I heard them, after they threw me down the stairs. They thought I was still unconscious, but I heard them talking. They said that they'd used Draco's wand to attack me, and that he didn't know, but that everyone would think it was him since he hates me so much, and then when you checked his wand, you'd find proof. But that even if you believed Draco when he'd say it wasn't him, they said that if you started investigating, they'd snap his wand so there'd be no evidence against anyone. They said that Draco's father would… hurt him if he lost his wand, and that would be almost as good as seeing him expelled."

"Harry," the Headmaster asked quietly, "do you think that Draco was the real target of these boys? That they only attacked you to get to him?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so. They wanted me dead. They called me a cockroach and said it was a shame I was so hard to kill." To his surprise, he felt Snape's hand return to his shoulder and squeeze. He looked over in amazement. Why wasn't he denouncing Harry and protecting his snakes?

"Potter, did you honestly believe that I would consider House loyalty so sacrosanct that I would side with would-be assassins over you?"

"Yes," Harry admitted in his confusion. "Did their going after Draco violate the House rules, so that makes it okay?"

Snape frowned at him. "It there were a single square inch of unbruised flesh on you, I would swat it, you foolish child. Such idiocy! You are prioritizing a mere threat against Draco over their very credible attempt to kill you?"

"But – but they're Slytherins," Harry protested. "I'm a Gryffindor. _And_ I'm the Gryffindor that you hate the most. You don't have to pretend to like me. I know you're only working with me because of the war. You don't want me to be killed before I kill Voldemort. It's okay. I understand that. You don't even have to punish the others, just please keep teaching me, okay? For the war."

"Harry…" For once even Snape was speechless. Yes, he favored his House. Yes, he said mean things about Gryffindor. Yes, he had let his godson get away with a great deal when it had been important for his spying activities to remain on Lucius' good side. But he was still appalled at the realization that Harry continued to view himself as nothing more than a tool to defeat Voldemort and was willing to let brutal attackers go free rather than risk losing the tenuous bond he had crafted with Snape.

Snape mourned Lily's death every single day. What's more, however much he may have detested James Potter during their schooldays, Snape had to admit the man had – finally – matured and had died a hero's death. So how had Snape managed to convince their only child that he cared more for two anonymous thugs than for their precious child, the one they died to protect? How had he not shown Harry that he was so much more than a vessel of destiny? That he was a person in his own right, and one that Snape actually had rather come to like – not that he liked _any_ students, of course, but some were… tolerable. Merlin knew he was not a demonstrative man, but surely even this child could see that he wasn't simply following Dumbledore's orders. Didn't the shortbread mean anything to the brat?

Harry sat watching him beseechingly. Snape forever after maintained that Dumbledore had hexed him, as he would otherwise never have acted as he did, but the fact remains – and there are witnesses – that Severus Snape reached over and hugged Harry Potter.

And when the boy didn't immediately die of shock, he hugged him again. And only then did he return to normal and say, in very dry tones, "Your lessons will continue, Mr Potter, as will your numerous detentions to address today's deceitfulness, disobedience, and poor judgment."

Harry's eyes were wide with astonishment, and both Headmaster and professor held their breaths as Harry processed Snape's words. Both wondered if he would merely focus on the threatened punishments and take them as further proof of the Potion Master's disdain for him. But after an eternity, Harry's mouth twitched upwards, and he asked, "Will there be biscuits?"

_TBC…_


	5. Chapter 5

Dumbledore looked mystified, and Snape scowled. Trust the brat to blurt it out like that, right in front of the Headmaster. Did he have no discretion at all? Well, no actually. Yet one _more_ thing he would obviously need to teach the boy. For now, however, he contented himself with a forbidding glare and a stern, "You already know my position on that, Mr Potter."

Harry grinned, to the continuing confusion of Ron and Dumbledore, and eased his robe over his bare shoulders.

"Headmaster," Snape said, spinning away from the cheeky brat before he swatted him or – worse – lost control of his own twitching lips. "I suggest we secure Mr Malfoy immediately. If Potter's assailants have become alarmed by his apparent lack of injuries, they might decide to act against Malfoy pre-emptively."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. Calling a house elf, he sent it to fetch Draco immediately. "Hopefully that summons will sound ominous enough to reassure Harry's attackers," he observed. "Tea, anyone?"

Whether or not it reassured the assailants, the command undoubtedly unsettled Draco. It was a decidedly apprehensive Slytherin who was escorted into the office a few minutes later. Seeing his Head of House glowering darkly, as well as two of his most heated schoolmates, did nothing to allay his fears. "Yes, Headmaster?" he asked, failing miserably in his attempt at a Malfoy smirk.

Unfortunately, Ron and Harry were unable to enjoy their nemesis' discomfiture. Harry's tussle with Snape had started his bruises throbbing anew, and Ron was still dazedly trying to come to terms with the enormity of his blunder.

Draco was even more unnerved when Snape swooped down upon him. "Give me your wand," he demanded abruptly.

"What? Why?" Draco asked blankly. Then, at the expression on his professor's face, he hastily handed over the wand. "What is it?" he asked again, but to his surprise and annoyance, everyone ignored him.

The two professors bent their attention to the wand. Abruptly Snape looked up, his gaze pinning Draco like a searchlight. "Mr Malfoy," he purred, "can you explain to me why your wand was used to hex, levitate, and injure a fellow student?"

"What?!" Draco's astonishment was enough to reassure both adults that Harry had been correct and Draco was not a willing participant to the attack. "But I didn't. I mean, I _may_ – " he shot a nervous glare at Ron and Harry " – have hexed someone once or twice, but it was in self-defense. And I haven't levitated anyone at all. I don't care what some _Gryffindor_ says. It's not true!" he spat, glaring at Harry.

"Your wand says otherwise," Snape said impassively, holding it out so Draco could see what the spells had revealed. Draco looked and paled. He began shaking his head disbelievingly. "I _didn't_. I swear…"

Snape loomed over him. "You're asking me to believe you let someone else use your wand? Your great-grandfather's wand? We both know what your father would do to you if he even _thought_ you let a non-Malfoy touch it, let alone use it to do magic."

"But – but – but –" Draco looked frantic. "I didn't, Uncle Sev. I didn't let anyone else use it, but I didn't do those spells either."

"Can you explain this?" Snape was implacable, his features an expressionless mask.

Draco sagged. "No."

"Fortunately for you," Snape said, as unemotional as before, "Mr Potter can."

Draco's head jerked up. "What!"

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, your scholastic career, not to mention your skin, has been saved by Mr Potter. It is thanks to him that you and your wand are unharmed."

"But how –"

"Mr Potter overheard a conspiracy that sought to blame you for a serious assault on him. Had he not happened to hear the plot _and_ decided to share his knowledge, you would most likely have been expelled. What is more, even if you had avoided that fate, the conspirators had plans to snap your wand." Draco paled still further. Harry began to worry that he was going to collapse where he stood. As much as he disliked Draco and had long wished Snape would harangue him the way he attacked Gryffindors, he was finding the reality too painful to enjoy. "And do you know _why_ you now owe Mr Potter a significant debt, Mr Malfoy?" Snape asked, his voice dropping dangerously as he stooped until he was nose to nose with the trembling student.

"No, sir," Draco managed – barely – to answer.

"Because you behaved like a brainless _Hufflepuff_ and didn't bother to safeguard your wand, you arrogant little fool!" Snape roared. Everyone in the room, even the Headmaster, jumped, and Draco flinched violently. "That a _Slytherin_ should be so oblivious to a conspiracy against him, happening right under his very nose, is absolutely appalling," Snape continued, shouting loud enough that Harry wanted to put his hands over his ears. "But I cannot _believe_ that a member of _my_ House, _MY GODSON NO LESS_, would be so _stupid_ as to allow someone not only to steal his wand but also to put it back and not even _NOTICE_ that it had been used! Have you lost your mind? Has consorting with Crabbe and Goyle reduced your intellectual level to theirs? Or is it your father's Pureblood nonsense that has made you so dangerously overconfident?" Snape abruptly shot out a hand and grabbed his godson by the ear. Draco let out a pain-filled squeak but was too stunned by the revelations to protest further. "Do you have any _idea_ what your father would do to you if he learned of this?"

Draco shuddered violently enough for even Ron to notice. "Please, Uncle Sev…" Draco whispered, his eyes wide and terrified. Harry was abruptly certain that Draco's fear wasn't due to the palpable fury of the man before him, but rather the mere thought of his father's reaction.

Snape tightened his grip on Draco's ear. "If you _ever_ again demonstrate such stupidity, Draco, I _will_ tell your father," he promised sternly.

Harry let out his breath in a sigh of relief that mirrored Draco's. That meant Snape _wouldn't_ tell Lucius about this incident. Harry had had enough beatings at the hands of the Dursleys not to want to see anyone else treated similarly. Not even Malfoy.

Snape pushed Draco towards the chair next to Harry, and the blond boy all but collapsed into it. Harry eyed him with poorly disguised concern, and for once Draco didn't make any attempt to sneer or pick a fight. He merely rubbed his sore ear and watched Snape nervously.

"Headmaster, we must take steps to safeguard both boys," Snape said coldly, turning away from the students.

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on the shivering Slytherin boy a moment longer, then turned reproachfully to Snape. Draco was the man's godson, as well as a member of his House, but still…

Snape glared back. Dumbeldore's lemon drops and soft words were hardly effective on a Malfoy, and his treatment of the boy had been nothing compared to what Lucius would have done (would _still_ do) if he learned of the boy's idiocy. Draco had, at best, been careless with a family heirloom. At worst, he was beginning to believe Lucius' Death Eater nonsense about the inherent supremacy of all Purebloods. Either way, Snape was most displeased with his godson, and the boy was lucky to escape with nothing more than a pinched ear and deflated ego.

"Perhaps Poppy can sequester them in the Infirmary for a few days," Dumbledore suggested. "Harry won't be ready for release much before that anyway, and Draco can keep him company."

Harry looked appalled at the prospect, but it was unsurprisingly Draco who voiced the protest. "I don't need to go to the Infirmary! _I'm_ not hurt."

Snape turned slowly and both boys shrank back involuntarily. "You are correct, Draco," Snape agreed silkily. "But that is easily remedied. Come here."

If Draco needed his body, as well as his ego, to be bruised before he would modify his behavior, Snape was willing to oblige. It would still be nothing compared to what the boy endured from Lucius Malfoy.

Draco tried to burrow deeper into the seat cushions. "No, please, I wasn't arguing, Uncle Sev. I didn't mean anything. I'll go!"

With one last warning glance, Snape turned away, and again both boys sighed in relief.

"Merlin, Potter," Draco whispered. "What is going _on_?"

"I'll tell you later," Harry whispered back. Friends of not, in a situation like this, their age formed a bond between them. Harry glanced over at Ron. What was his reaction to Malfoy's discomfort? But Ron just stared at the floor, seemingly oblivious to everything around him.

"There cannot be that many people with a hatred for both Potter and Malfoy," Snape pointed out to the Headmaster, ignoring the boys' sotto voce conversation.

"Mmm," Dumbledore agreed thoughtfully. "It shouldn't be too hard to determine who the culprits are."

"And I trust there will be no nonsense about their punishment, Headmaster?" Snape warned, his most forbidding glance firmly in place.

Dumbledore sighed. "I fear in such a case there is no place for leniency," he said sadly, and Snape nodded in satisfaction.

"Perhaps you would be kind enough to escort the boys to Poppy and explain the situation, Headmaster? If I return to her domain, I suspect she'll hex me to the bed."

"I did tell you that sneaking out of there while she was attending to the boy in the Ravenclaw dormitory was a bad idea, Severus," the Headmaster twinkled at him. "Come along, boys," he said, shepherding them to their feet.

"Weasley, remain behind," Snape ordered before the unusually quiet redhead could rise. At Dumbledore's questioning look, Snape said blandly, "You don't mind if I remain here for a few minutes, do you? I'm still a bit weak from my injuries."

Dumbledore gave him a strange look. For Severus Snape to admit weakness was unusual. To do so in front of students was unthinkable. And why did the statement make the Weasley boy look stricken? Shouldn't he be pleased by such an announcement from his hated professor?

"Of course, my boy. Take as long as you need. Can I get you anything?"

"Thank you, Headmaster. If I need anything, I'm certain Mr Weasley will be more than accommodating." Again, Ron winced. Dumbledore knew something was going on, but he also knew Snape wouldn't divulge anything until he was good and ready, so he subdued his curiosity and ushered the other boys out.

"S-sir?" Draco paused at the doorway, looking back at Snape. "May I have my wand back?"

The professor regarded him coolly for a moment, then: "No. Perhaps several days without it will teach you to take better care of it."

For an instant it looked like Draco might be foolish enough to argue, and Harry gave him a quick poke in the side. Whether Draco realized it or not, Harry could see that Snape was near the end of his patience. Though he wasn't fond of Draco, neither did Harry wish to see him thrashed – verbally or physically. Draco glanced back at him, caught the warning look, and for once listened. He subsided meekly, pausing only long enough to give Snape the "sad puppy dog" eyes that had proven so useful with his mother.

The dour man merely glared back, wholly unmoved, and Draco hurried after the Headmaster, uncomfortably aware that he now owed Harry another debt for his timely intervention.

_TBC…_


	6. Chapter 6

The door closed behind the others, leaving Ron and Snape alone together. Ron swallowed convulsively, dreading the professor's opening words, but Snape was unexpectedly silent. After what felt like an eternity, Ron couldn't stand it anymore. He fearfully raised his eyes to Snape and to his terror, saw the Potion Master steadily regarding him.

He gulped and dropped his gaze. Another long silence ensued.

At last Ron knew he had to speak or he'd burst into tears. He also knew what he had to say, though his shame was so thick it nearly clogged his throat. He wished he could just disappear, sink through the floor, vanish forever. Of course, he just might now that Snape had him.

Still, regardless of whatever Snape would do to him – and he suspected that as chilling as his worst imagining were, the reality would be worse – he deserved it. And more. He had acted like a Dark Wizard or a Slytherin, harming an innocent. His family would be horrified when they found out.

Ron forced himself to take a deep breath. Given Snape's previous comment about his tongue, coupled with the fact that he was not known to make empty threats, Ron needed to say something while he still could. "I – I'm s-sorry, Professor," he stuttered, staring at the ground.

"Such a heartfelt, _sincere_ apology," Snape sneered.

Ron flinched. "It is. I mean, I am," he protested, feeling his eyes fill with tears of shame. "I'm really, really sorry for what I did."

"Which part?" Snape inquired coldly. "Plotting against me, branding me a sadistic child abuser, sabotaging my lab, injuring me, hexing me in the infirmary, threatening to blow off parts of my body, insulting me in front of the Headmaster, or physically attacking me a few minutes ago?"

Ron had started to cry by the time Snape got to his third offense. Somehow hearing them all enumerated with such clinical accuracy made it seem much worse, much more cold blooded. He wiped his face on his sleeve and struggled to speak. "Everything! All of that. All of it and more. I'm so, so sorry," he managed to gasp between sobs.

Snape snorted. "You're only sorry you were caught, Weasley. Don't try to pretend otherwise."

Ron shook his head so hard, tears flew across the room and landed on Snape. At least the professor hoped they were tears. The boy was a soggy mess. "No, sir. I'm truly sorry. I've never been so ashamed of myself in my life. I can't believe what I did to you. It was just… horrible." He began to sob again.

"Stop sniveling and mop yourself up!" Snape snapped. "You're disgusting."

"I know," Ron wept, for once too miserable to take offense at the professor's insults. "I know. I don't deserve to be a Gryffindor." As his own words sank in, he felt his heart break. All too soon, he would no longer be a Gryffindor. He sobbed harder.

"Weasley." Snape's cold voice cut through his budding hysteria. "If you are attempting to make yourself so distraught that I slap you, thus giving you evidence to prove me guilty of battering students, you will be disappointed. I have no intention of touching such a pathetic mess. What I will do, however, is to Summon a pail of ice water and douse you with it."

The icy tones were nearly as effective as the water would have been. Ron managed to regain some semblance of self-control.

"Sorry," he muttered, shamefaced and staring hard at his shoes. "I wasn't trying to trap you or anything. I'm not that sneaky – or that smart."

"Your past actions argue otherwise," Snape retorted. Ron blinked in confusion. Had that almost been a compliment? No, surely not. "Or are you now willing to admit that you did not act alone?"

Ron's eyes widened. "I did! I really did!"

Snape just sneered at him. "You expect me to believe that Granger wasn't behind the adder venom?"

Ron's blood ran cold. Oh no. He couldn't get Hermione kicked out too. "Sir, please,' he said frantically, "I swear she didn't know anything. She still doesn't." At Snape's expression of patent disbelief, Ron grew even more agitated. "Honest! I did it all myself. I faked a headache to get out of Transfigurations so I could go to the library and do the research myself. You can ask Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. I can even show you which book talked about the venom. Please, please, Professor, you've got to believe me! Use Veritaserum if you want."

"I suppose it _is_ unlikely Miss Granger would have supported such a scheme," Snape finally allowed, and Ron collapsed back into his seat with relief.

That relief was short lived, though, once Ron realized that while he may have protected Hermione, his own neck was still forfeit. "What – what are you going to do to me?" he asked, sick with dread but already knowing what the answer had to be.

"What do you think?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Surely even you, Mr Weasley, could deduce this."

He'd known it would come, but it still hit with stunning force. Ron just barely managed to avoid bursting into tears again. The first Weasley in history to be expelled from Hogwarts. Guess he'd be famous after all.

"Yes, sir. I'll go and pack my things." He struggled to his feet and paused, looking straight at the professor for the first time. "I know I don't deserve it, and you probably won't believe that I mean it, but I really hope that someday you can accept my apology."

Snape watched the boy trudge to the door, defeat in every line of his body. Oddly enough, Snape found himself believing the brat's sincerity. How very Gryffindor of him to feel genuine remorse, not to mention shame at hatching so Slytherin a plot.

He frowned. Hogwarts needed another Weasley like Dumbledore needed a gift certificate to Honeydukes, but there was something oddly _right_ about the Golden Trio. Snape might not be an expert in Arithmancy, but only a fool would ignore the powerful magic inherent in certain numbers. Add to that Ron's obvious protective streak towards Harry, and Snape wasn't sure that expelling the redhead was such a good idea.

Deeply satisfying, yes. Smart, probably not. If nothing else, it would upset Harry, and even if he didn't blame Snape for the expulsion, it would hardly further advance their bonding. On the other hand, if Weasley – who had always objected to Harry spending time with Snape – were suddenly and permanently in his debt… Hmm. This had serious potential.

Snape's Slytherin instincts were roused. Expulsion would achieve little in his best interest, but if Weasley dropped his opposition to Snape, then Harry's status as his ward would cease to be a point of contention within the Trio. That would make Harry less reluctant to devote time to his studies with Snape and might well be worth the price of keeping Weasley around. Besides, this way he would have the fun of tormenting the redheaded idiot himself. Or perhaps he'd work on encouraging Weasley's heretofore unsuspected Slytherin side. Not only would it perturb the elder Weasleys no end, but it might also be a potent weapon in the war. Harry's idea of strategy was yelling while he leapt, but if a cunning strategist was hidden behind the insipid freckles of a Weasley… Well, Voldemort and the others would never suspect such a thing.

Snape sat up, decided. "Weasley!" His sharp command caught the boy at the door.

"Yes, sir?" he asked dully, clearly resigned to his fate.

"Sit down. I'm not through with you."

The boy reclaimed his chair, uncertain. "Are – are you going to hit me?"

"I thought we had already established that I do not strike children for my own pleasure, Mr Weasley." Snape's eyes glinted dangerously.

Ron flushed. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just that I hurt you, so it only seems fair…"

"What a very archaic philosophy you hold, Mr Weasley. Are you proposing I throw you against the wall until you too lose consciousness?"

Ron was now crimson. "I – I just meant that you hit – I mean punish – Harry, and I deserve it a lot more."

"Mr Weasley," Snape said in tones of long-suffering boredom, "I have no desire to become the disciplinarian for the delinquents of Gryffindor House. My authority to spank Mr Potter derives in part from the fact that he has no one in a parental role to provide him with appropriate supervision and consequences. When last I checked, _you_ were in possession of two parents, two adult brothers, and an enormous extended family, any of whom are more than capable of providing you with the punishment you so richly deserve."

To his astonishment, Ron started to cry again.

"Weasely! Cease that caterwauling at once! If you are trying to convince me that you will be mistreated by your parents –"

Weasley actually blinked up at him, his tears interrupted by sheer astonishment. "Huh?"

"This infernal boo-hooing. Are you suggesting that you are in terror of the punishment your family will inflict upon you?"

"What? Oh, no. I mean, yes, they're going to kill me, but no, they're not going to _kill_ me."

"Eloquent as always, Weasley."

"I just – I mean, it won't be like Harry and the Durselys, but…" he started to sniffle again.

"Then why are you whimpering so pitifully?" Snape interrupted before the boy could descend into another maudlin display.

"It's just… They're going to be so disappointed in me." Ron's lip quivered. "When they find out what I did – all the terrible things – they won't be able to _look_ at me any more. No one's ever done anything this awful, let alone get expelled."

"The twins –"

Ron shook his head before Snape could say anything else. "No. I mean, sure they're bloody nuisances and drive everyone barking mad, but they're actually really careful not to hurt anyone with their pranks." Snape considered, but found he had to concede Ron's point. The twins' victims were often humiliated, embarrassed, mortified, furious, and/or homicidal, but unlike the Marauders, they would never seek to seriously harm someone. As legendary as their pranks were, nothing came close to luring an unsuspecting student to an encounter with a werewolf. It pained Snape to admit anything to their credit, but the Weasley twins were nothing more than pranksters – the bane of their professors' existence but not violent or dangerous.

Ron saw Snape's expression and knew his point was made. "See? That's why my folks are going to be so upset. What I did was _Dark_."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. He really would need to work on Weasley or that marvelous Slytherin potential would be squashed beneath a mountain of Gryffindor guilt. "What will your parents do to you?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Ron slumped. "I don't know. It's hard to imagine anything bad enough. I mean, I'm sure I'll get walloped and grounded and assigned a million extra chores. And my trip to visit Charlie and the dragons this summer is sure to be canceled. But I mean, they would do all that if I got in enough _normal_ trouble. I don't know what they'll do to me for attacking a professor, blowing up a classroom, and getting expelled." He swallowed hard. "Where do kids go if they're thrown out of Hogwarts?"

"Most seek education on the Continent," Snape answered, and saw Weasley's face fall. Of course. The Weasleys could ill afford to pay international tuition costs and the boy's academic performance hardly merited a scholarship. At the very least, their youngest son had just created a severe financial hardship for the entire family.

Ron dropped his head into his hands. "I can't believe I've screwed up this bad."

"Bad_ly_, Weasely, and in fact your plan had some elements that were quite inspired."

Ron began to laugh, though it sounded more like sobs. "Great. Now I know my life is over. A Slytherin Death Eater just complimented me on my cunning. I should go and jump off the Astronomy Tower right now."

"Kindly refrain from these tedious histrionics," Snape commanded. "If you are so awash with angst at this age, Merlin help us all when you're 16. Please do not imagine that no one in the history of the Wizarding World has ever made a mistake as egregious as your own."

Ron snorted. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mr Weasley, I was only a few years older than you when I chose to take the Dark Mark. That is a tad more serious."

"But you only hurt yourself when you did that. I hurt you." Ron's eyes began to fill again. "I'm no better than You-Know-Who."

Snape rolled his eyes at Weasley's exaggeration. "Nonsense. Come back after you've murdered a few dozen people, and we'll revisit the issue."

Ron stared at him, terrified. "Do you think I will?" he whispered.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake." Snape was highly tempted to slap the little idiot after all.

Ron moaned and drooped against the chair. "I don't know what to do, Professor."

"I suggest you fire call your parents and inform them of your activities," Snape said coldly, indicating the nearby fireplace. He might as well get the boy's parents involved in his punishment right from the start.

Ron gulped. "Don't you think the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall should be here when I do?"

Snape nearly cursed. Of course. The little brat was right. It was all well and good for Snape to want to ship Weasley back to his parents for some well-earned discipline, but it would be wildly improper not to inform Dumbledore first, and he would of course bring in Weasley's Head of House. That mean that the brat's actions would have to come to light, and since Dumbledore would expel Harry's attackers – Snape would see to that! – he could hardly do less to Snape's.

Snape frowned horribly. It seemed that if he were truly committed to preventing Weasley's expulsion, he would have to keep his actions a secret, and that mean he would have to deal with the little monster himself.

Ron quailed before Snape's expression. Now what? He numbly wondered why Snape didn't just let him go pack instead of quizzing him about his home life.

"Mr Weasley," Snape said silkily, and Ron was suddenly afraid. "What would you do for me if I were to agree not to report you?"

For a moment, Ron was sure he'd misheard. Then he was abruptly elated, and then just as suddenly crashed down into blackest depression. There was no way Snape was serious. The greasy git was just toying with him. Give up the golden opportunity to expel a student, let alone a Gryffindor, let alone a _Weasley_? Never.

"Wh-why would you do that, sir?"

"Are you deaf, boy? Because you'd make it worth my while. So – what do you have to offer?"

Ron stared at him, his thoughts whirling. Snape was actually asking for a bribe? "I – I don't have any money, sir," he confessed.

"What a surprise. An impecunious Weasley," Snape said sarcastically. "Astounding."

"I – I have a broom. And a rat. And –"

"What will you offer me next, Weasley? Your underwear? As if I would covet your meager possessions."

Ron scrunched up his face in thought. What did he have to offer an adult? A horrible idea struck him. Surely Snape didn't mean… Appalled, he risked a glance at the professor.

Snape didn't need to use his legilimency skills when the look on Ron's face said it all. "If you so much as _think_ of insulting me with a question about sexual favors, Weasley, I will fire call your parents right now then hurl you from the Astronomy Tower myself!"

"Yes, sir!" Ron gulped and cringed away. Well, that was a relief. But what then was Snape after? What could he possibly offer? His mind raced down unfamiliar pathways trying to find a bargaining chip. "I – I could…" he trailed off. Finally, "Wh- what do you want?"

Snape gave him an evil smile. "I can always use new Potion ingredients," he said, and Ron involuntarily backed away. "Oh, calm down, Weasley. As if the Headmaster would permit me to harvest a student."

Ron swallowed, relieved. "What if I _could_ help you with your Potions?" he asked with sudden inspiration. "I mean, I – I could work for you. I could come and do anything you needed. Like permanent detention. Don't you always have cauldrons to be scrubbed and ingredients to be prepared?"

"Hmmmm." Snape pretended to think it over. Really, it had taken the idiot long enough. "I suppose it _would_ be attractive to have a work boy around for all the disgusting tasks…" Then he frowned. "But you'd probably just pout and laze about. I need someone who would listen to my directions and be hard-working."

"I'd pay attention! And I'd work really hard, too. I promise I wouldn't complain or anything," Ron swore vehemently.

"I don't see how it would work," Snape shook his head dismissively. "If I assign you this much detention, your Head of House will demand to know why."

"You don't have to assign it. I'll just come every night! I promise. I'll come until you tell me to stop. Or I graduate," Ron added as an afterthought.

Snape had to fight down a smirk at that, but he managed to sneer instead. "Oh, so you expect me to believe that you'll just show up for your punishment out of the goodness of your heart? Day after day after day? When there's nothing to make you?"

"I would, I swear it. Please, give me the chance," Ron begged. "Please!"

Snape sighed, the very picture of long-suffering. "Oh, all right."

_TBC…_


	7. Chapter 7

Ron found himself on the far side of the door to the Headmaster's office, dazedly descending the staircase. He still wasn't sure quite how it happened that he was still enrolled in Hogwarts. He wasn't even starting his punishment, serving Snape, anytime soon. When he'd asked the snarky professor what time tomorrow he should present himself, Snape had called him a moron and pointed out that people might get suspicious if Ron's newfound dedication to Potions corresponded with a mysterious explosion in the classroom. Snape had barked that he would summon Ron once enough time had passed that the two events could not be linked in anyone's mind, then he had all but thrown the boy out of the Headmaster's office.

For all intents and purposes, Ron had gotten away with his plan, and that was just Wrong.

Once it had become clear that he had made an enormous, gigantic, inexcusable mistake, he had been sure his life was over. Everyone knew that Snape held grudges like a goblin. Once he knew Ron had been responsible for the explosion in his class – not to mention all the threats, hexes, and insults the boy had hurled at him – there was no _way_ he would rest until Ron was expelled in disgrace.

So what had just happened?

Ron couldn't quite figure it out. He'd figured his parents and maybe even his Head of House would plead for mercy, and he'd been more than ready to grovel and abase himself as well. But he'd assumed that it would be Dumbledore at whom he should direct his begging, because it was absurd to hope that Snape would be moved to pity by beseeching pleas… Amused by them, yes. Affected, no.

But in the end, it had been Snape himself who had raised the possibility of salvation. Ron hadn't even considered that as a remote chance. He wasn't foolish enough to imagine that the possibility of a free helper could be _all_ that appealing to the dour man. It wasn't as if Ron could provide that much assistance. He was pants at potions, and they both knew it. So what could the man want? He hadn't even bound the boy to him with a magical oath, though to be fair, Ron _would_ probably have acquiesced to being his slave, if that's what it took to remain at Hogwarts.

So what was in it for Snape? Did he plan to humiliate Ron at every opportunity? Well, he sort of did that anyway. Short of stripping him of his trousers in the middle of class, there wasn't much else Snape could do to make him feel worse than he already did. And frankly, if Snape had demanded the right to administer a pants-down spanking during dinnertime in the Great Hall, Ron had a feeling his parents would likely have agreed, once they were apprised of his actions. Now, though, with no one else being the wiser about the explosion in Potions or the encounter in the Infirmary, Snape wouldn't be able to be any worse to him than usual, at least in public. Dumbledore and McGonagall wouldn't allow anything that they thought was excessively harsh treatment – even if Ron knew it was secretly deserved.

So why in Merlin's name would Snape willingly forego the opportunity to increase his power over Ron? To rid himself of an annoying student? To humiliate the entire Weasley clan? Ron chewed his lip. There had to be a reason. It was the equivalent of being within a move of checkmate and then letting your opponent win. There was no way it was an accident. Snape's words made it clear he knew he held all the cards, but he'd still offered Ron a way out. Why? Snape was way too canny to do anything without a reason.

Ron thought furiously. Why did Snape do anything? Well, because he wanted to. But he wouldn't _want_ to do anything nice for Ron. Quite the reverse. It was clear that he detested the boy. If it were Draco in this position, then sure, Snape would bend over backwards for the little ferret. But he _liked_ Draco. Okay, so if he weren't doing it to be nice, could he be doing it so that he could be very, very nasty? With a trapped and submissive victim?

Well, no. As easy as it was for Ron to imagine the black bat gleefully wielding a whip in the dark recesses of his dungeons, he'd made it clear that he wasn't keeping Ron around for a little torture session or two. First off, there was no way that the offended fury in Snape's eyes when he'd figured out what Ron was thinking had been feigned. Nor had Ron missed the look of horror on Snape's face when he saw Harry's injuries. Surely if Snape liked to hurt people, he would have enjoyed seeing Harry like that. And besides, if Snape were really into torture, he'd have done a much better job of making Ron writhe in the Headmaster's office. So that was out.

Snape also did what Dumbledore told him to do. But that didn't fit this case either. It was clear from the Headmaster's own words that he didn't know about Ron's actions, so he couldn't have ordered Snape to overlook them. The same held true for McGonagall – not that Ron really thought she had the same influence over Snape that Dumbledore did, but even if she _would _try to intervene on Ron's behalf, she couldn't have done it in this case, since she too was ignorant of the events.

So why was he standing here trembling in a dim hallway, rather than packing his bags and waiting to see his parents' devastated faces? What had made Snape relent? Why would he --?

Ron's breath caught in his chest. Who _else_ did Snape listen to? Ron could think of only one other… person… that Snape had ever willingly obeyed. What if his oath of allegiance to Voldemort wasn't as dead as Dumbledore thought? What if he were still working for the Dark Lord? If that were the case, wouldn't he be on the lookout for other potential Death Eaters? Wasn't that why he was so tolerant of his Slytherins' misbehavior? You only had to look at Malfoy to see a Junior Death Eater in training. What if Ron's behavior had convinced Snape that he too had a Dark side? That with the proper coaching and encouragement, Ron could be brought to worship at Voldemort's feet?

Ron thought he would sick up then and there. That was it. It was the only thing that made sense. Snape had protected him and kept him at Hogwarts, so that Ron could fulfill his destiny of becoming a follower of Voldemort. Who else among the students had ever attacked a professor? And an innocent one at that. Or mouthed off to Dumbledore himself? Even Malfoy hadn't ever done anything that evil. No wonder Snape had such high hopes for him. He might even be grooming him to be Voldemort's heir.

Somehow, Ron managed to stagger to his dormitory. He was Marked now, and unlike Harry whose place in the prophecies had been none of his own doing, Ron was tainted because of his own actions. He vaguely wondered if this was why Trelawny always sneered at him – had she Seen all this? Not even realizing that he had, for the first time in his life, accorded his Divinations professor respect for her alleged talent, Ron fell into bed. Despite the whirling thoughts that tumbled through his mind, the events of the day caught up with him, and he slept.

_TBC…_


	8. Chapter 8

It took Dumbledore and Snape three days to track down Harry's attackers. They turned out to belong to Death Eater Pureblood families (explaining their antipathy towards Harry) who had run afoul of Lucius Malfoy's ruthless drive for power (hence their targeting Draco). The boys were summarily expelled – to Snape's satisfaction and Dumbledore's sorrow – and Snape subsequently held a spine-chilling all-House meeting where he made it clear that he expected his students to make their own choices in life, rather than blindly following their parents' views (he looked hard at Draco at this point). Further, he absolutely would not tolerate external rivalries invading the House of Slytherin. By the time Snape had finished, most of the first years and some of the upper years were sniveling in terror, and his students felt the two expelled boys had been lucky to have escaped his wrath. Compared to what Snape promised to do to any other students who embarrassed the House, let alone attacked a fellow Snake, the two had received a very merciful punishment indeed.

Once the three boys left Hogwarts, accompanied by their irate parents, Harry and Draco's protective custody in the Infirmary had finally ended. Though both loudly proclaimed delight at the end of their enforced companionship, they had in fact maintained a reasonably cordial relationship during their time together. "Friendship" might be too strong a term, but with no one else to talk to, both found loneliness even less attractive than interaction with each other. Of course, they didn't advertise the fact to anyone else, though Snape, Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall, the only other people they saw for the three days, noted the new détente with varying levels of amusement and satisfaction.

Draco was collected by Snape in time for their all-House meeting, while McGonagall came for Harry. No sooner had they entered the Gryffindor Tower than Hermione hurtled into him, giving him a fierce hug that left him breathless. "Are you okay? I was so worried!"

"I'm fine, 'Mione. Honest. Even Madame Pomfrey says so."

"Good." She promptly socked him in the arm, eliciting a yelp. "Don't you _ever_ keep a secret like that again, Harry Potter!"

"Really, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said reprovingly. "If you re-injure Mr Potter, Madame Pomfrey will be very cross with you." Hermione colored while Harry grinned, but the two reversed their roles when McGonagall continued, "However, I for one am sympathetic to your feelings. Mr Potter," she bent to look directly into his eyes, "in future, when you have a problem, please do not shut me out. I was a friend to both your parents, I am your Head of House, and I care about you. Please remember that. You are not alone."

Harry felt his eyes fill with tears and he had to look away from the elderly witch's steady gaze before he disgraced himself by bawling like a toddler. He could feel Hermione slipping her hand into his, and he squeezed hard. "Thank you, P'fessor," he mumbled around the sudden lump in his throat.

She straightened and patted him briskly on the shoulder. "You're welcome, Harry. Please remember what I said. Next time, I may – like Miss Granger – be unable to restrain myself," She gave him a surprisingly impish grin and left them.

"Did Professor McGonagall just make a joke?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"No, I think she just threatened to swat me." Harry sighed, but he couldn't really muster much of a feeling of indignation. He still was pleasantly surprised by people caring about him, worrying about him, and getting cross with him for not letting them help. After a decade with the Dursleys, having to rely only on himself, it was a delicious but novel sensation to have people on his side and eager to take care of him… even if they did have a tendency to demonstrate their regard by smacking him.

Suddenly Harry realized what was missing. "'Mione, where's Ron?"

She frowned worriedly. "Oh, Harry. I'm glad you're back. He's been acting so oddly. Ever since he got that headache, he just hasn't been himself. He was gone for a while the same night you went to the Infirmary, and he's just been so quiet ever since. He doesn't argue with me when I say we need to study, and he's not even eating much!"

Harry's eyes widened. This was indeed serious! Promising Hermione that he'd try to learn what was bothering their friend, Harry went up to his dorm room. Sure enough, Ron was there, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling.

As soon as Harry entered, Ron swung himself into a sitting position, and a genuine smile spread across his face when he saw who it was. "Harry! It's good to see you, mate! How are you feeling?'

"I'm fine," Harry answered, dropping beside him on the bed. "Madame Pomfrey would have released me before this, but she was waiting for the Headmaster to get rid of those three. See?" He twisted around and yanked up his shirt, revealing unblemished skin.

Ron looked happy, but it was only a faint shadow of his usual smile. "Great. And you survived having Malfoy as a roommate?"

"Well, after surviving you, I can live with anyone!" Harry joked, then ducked Ron's half-hearted swipe. "Nah, seriously, it wasn't that bad. I was glad Snape hadn't given him back his wand, but he was actually pretty decent. I mean, Snape practically made him believe he owed me a Life Debt; I guess he figured he couldn't be too snotty. He was still an arrogant arse, but nowhere near as bad as he's been. He's actually a good chess player so we mostly played that and talked Quidditch and stuff."

"Well, he didn't have his wand _or_ his goons and he knew Snape was already mad at him, so he'd better mind his manners." Ron nodded.

"Hey, speaking of Snape, are _you_ okay? I mean, last time I saw you, you had smarted off to the Headmaster and you had actually _punched_ Snape. What did he do to you? I couldn't believe Dumbledore just left you there with him like that. I figured he would chop you up for Potions, but then no one would tell me what had happened, and I didn't want to push too hard in front of Draco."

Ron looked away. "Yeah, it's okay. He wasn't happy, but he didn't go mental or anything. I wasn't expelled."

"Well, yeah, obviously. He didn't give you three years of detention with Filch or anything?"

"Nah."

Harry frowned, but Ron's body language made it clear he didn't want to discuss the matter. "Hermione says you haven't been acting normally for the last few days. Anything wrong?"

"Just missing you, I guess," Ron said, making a kissy-face expression.

Harry retaliated with a pillow, and the topic was dropped in the ensuing fight, just as Ron had intended.

_TBC…_


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione was – as usual – right. Ron just wasn't his normal self. He was much too quiet for one thing, and he was actually paying attention to his studies, as if he had suddenly realized why he was at Hogwarts. Hermione was torn between delight at Ron's new industry and concern over its unknown cause. Harry was willing to go along with the extra study time, since Snape was continuing to encourage him to spend more time on his classes and less on his corridor-wandering. Now that – thanks to Snape's tutoring – the material made more sense to him and his grades were improving, Harry found that Hermione's focus on their studies wasn't as peculiar as he had once thought. It was actually kind of fun to know the answers, and Harry liked trying to stump Snape and the other professors by asking questions about things that went beyond what was covered in the textbooks. It was nice that Ron was, for once, not complaining about Snape turning Harry into another Hermione or moaning about how much time Harry was spending in the dungeons.

Of course, that didn't mean that Harry had completely turned over a new leaf. As far as DADA was concerned, Harry would rather drink one of Neville's potions than spend any time on that idiot Lockhart's assignments. Particularly now that he was studying the topic with Snape, he saw no reason to waste his time on homework or even in attending class, though in retrospect, that was an unwise move.

Harry had just let himself into Snape's quarters for their nightly study session, having finally completed the last of the flobberworm-dicing detentions Snape had assigned for his keeping silent about the attack. Even though Harry knew he was technically being punished, he actually hadn't minded the detentions very much. While the flobberworms were undeniably disgusting, Snape had made a point of being in the dungeon classroom while Harry was working on them and had spent the time talking to him about potion ingredients. It made preparing the ingredients a lot more interesting, especially when he was able to divert Snape into telling horrifying cautionary tales of Potion Masters who had gotten careless once too often or describing the history of various illicit potions that were most decidedly not in the syllabus. With the exception of the night when Harry had gotten so caught up in the stories that he had completely forgotten to keep grinding the cockroach legs into powder – and earned himself a stinging swat as a reminder, which caused him to pout, which promptly earned another swat – it was easy to forget that he was there for punishment.

Still, he was looking forward to a night that was completely punishment-free. Snape tended to be more formal during detentions, and his threshold for awarding more detention, docking points, or even administering whacks, was a lot lower. Harry wasn't truly frightened of the man any longer, but he didn't believe in tempting fate either.

So when his cheerful "H'lo, P'fessor!" was met with a growl, he was more than a little taken aback.

"What?" he asked blankly, dropping his schoolbag on the desk and looking over to where Snape was glowering in his chair. "I finished all the detentions. Why are you glaring at me like that?"

"Because I just received a note from Professor Lockhart expressing his concern over my ward's continuing convalescence and hoping that you will soon be well enough to rejoin his class." Harry gulped. "Since you have been out of the Infirmary for a week, I find his concern touching but misplaced. Am I to assume that you have been skipping classes?"

"Only his," Harry mumbled, staring at the floor. He winced as Snape slapped his hand down on the desktop.

"_Only_ his? As if that is an excuse?" Snape loomed over the boy who peered up at him nervously through his fringe. "The one class in which I have _not_ felt it necessary to supervise you appears to be the one class that you feel free to ignore. How coincidental!" Harry squirmed at the sarcastic tone. "Are you an infant, not to be trusted to take any responsibility for your own life, Potter? Was it too much to expect that you would not require me to oversee every single aspect of your scholastic career?"

Snape's fingers caught Harry under the chin and tilted the boy's face up to meet his angry gaze. "I am very disappointed in you, Mr Potter. This lack of responsibility is puerile and self-defeating."

"But there's no point in going," Harry argued, blinking back tears. It had been a while since Snape had had reason to scold him like this, and he'd forgotten how awful it made him feel. Besides, Snape was wrong – it wasn't as if Lockhart taught anything worthwhile. Harry was better off spending the class time doing other work, like preparing for his DADA lessons with Snape. "He can't teach me anything."

The words echoed in Snape's mind like the cocky pronouncements of another Potter, and Snape's temper flared. He had long ago realized that Harry was much more like his mother in personality, and that had helped him ignore the fact that the boy resembled a miniature clone of his father, but hearing Harry spout the same kind of arrogant claim that he had heard a thousand times from James – not to mention his sidekick Black – unleashed his wrath.

He seized the boy by the ear, ignoring his gasp of pain, and dragged him over to the desk. "Congratulations, Mr Potter, you have just earned yourself a spanking, not to mention 200 lines of 'I am not as smart as I think I am.'" Ignoring Harry's protests, he pushed the brat into the chair and accio'd quill and parchment. "You can begin work on the lines while I review your DADA notes and homework. You'd better hope that your work puts me in a better mood, or you won't be able to sit in class tomorrow, which you _will_ be attending, if I have to walk you there myself."

Harry's blood chilled at the thought of Snape marching him from class to class by the ear, while Draco and the rest of the school watched and snickered. "You wouldn't!" he gasped, but he knew Snape wouldn't make idle threats.

"Your notes and homework?" Snape demanded, pushing the bookbag over. Harry flushed as he dug out his notebook. Snape was going to have a stroke – maybe he'd be able to flee while the Potion Master was foaming at the mouth?

Sure enough, it took Snape all of ten seconds to flip through Harry's notebook and realize it contained nothing but doodles and highly uncomplimentary comments about the DADA professor. "So you and Mr Weasley do nothing in class but write notes to each other insulting your teacher?" Snape asked, his voice menacingly quiet. Harry nodded, quailing in his seat. He wouldn't have been all that surprised if Snape had pinched his ear again, but the professor merely held out his hand. "Your homework."

Harry lifted one shoulder while staring fixedly at the desktop. "What is that supposed to mean, Mr Potter?"

"D'n't do't." Harry's reply was almost inaudible, and he curled his fingers around the chair seat in a feeble effort to avoid being dragged up and turned over Snape's knee.

"You didn't do it?" Snape repeated incredulously. "_Any_ of it?" Harry shook his head. "_ALL YEAR LONG?_"

"Year's not over yet," Harry pointed out, then ducked as Snape aimed a clout at the back of his head. Oh yeah, Snape was furious. He only cuffed Harry or snatched him by the ear when he was _truly_ irate, and while there was no real force behind the blows – unlike his spankings – the mere fact that he did so was a clear indication that he was incandescent with rage.

"I'm sorry!" Harry cried, flinching back in his chair.

Snape visibly reined in his temper. After taking and releasing a long breath, he seated himself opposite Harry and said, calmly enough, "We will set the lines aside for now. You will use the parchment in front of you to do your overdue DADA homework. Once that has been done, you –"

"No."

Snape stared at the brat. Was he channeling James tonight, or had he just been blind to the boy's arrogant streak? "Excuse me?"

Harry swallowed hard. "I won't do the homework. I'd rather write lines."

"I wasn't aware I was offering you a choice, Mr Potter," Snape said, his voice brittle with fury. "And you most assuredly _will_ do the homework. The only question is whether you do it with or without a sore backside. But I promise you, before you leave these quarters, the work _will _have been done."

"I won't." Harry refused to meet his professor's eye. He was frightened half to death, but he would rather face Snape's wrath than give Lockhart the satisfaction of having gotten The Boy Who Lived to answer those ridiculous questions.

"Repeat that."

Harry gulped, but he wasn't about to back down. "I won't do that stupid DADA homework, and you can't make me." Okay, that wasn't exactly _repeating_ himself, but it got his point across.

A little too well, it seemed. The next thing he knew, he had been jerked out of his chair and across Snape's knee. Three hard swats fell in rapid succession, wringing yelps of pain out of him.

"That was for your attitude, Mr Potter," Snape said coldly. "You will adjust it immediately, or I will adjust it for you. I have no intention of putting up with your arrogant determination of which classes or professors are _worthy_ of your time and attention," he sneered. "You are a foolish, ill-mannered, and untutored child who should be grateful that your professors are willing to expend their time and effort to teach dunderheaded ingrates like yourself." He smacked Harry again, _hard, _and the combined sting of slap and words made the tears spring to Harry's eyes.

"I'm _not _ungrateful or arrogant!" Harry protested, his voice rough with unshed tears. "You can't stand Lockhart eith- _ow!_"

"That is _Professor_ Lockhart to you," Snape snarled, bringing his hand down hard on the sensitive undercurve of Harry's bottom. He paused then swatted him again, in just the same spot, and Harry writhed under the stern blows. "And my relationship with – or opinion of – a colleague has no bearing on the fact that you _will_ treat all your professors_ with respect_!" Two more smacks to the tender area accompanied the last words, making Harry yell and squirm.

He lay over Snape's knee, panting. He hadn't been walloped this hard in a while, and Snape showed no sign of stopping. Harry gulped – this might well be his first spanking whose effects didn't fade by morning. For some reason, Snape wasn't his usual cool, deliberate self. He was obviously furious with Harry, and somehow Harry doubted that the usual ritual of tea and biscuits would be forthcoming after this punishment.

Then Snape surprised him again, yanking him upright to stand alongside the professor's chair. Harry's hands flew to cup his flaming backside, and he prayed there would be no more swats to come.

"All right, Potter. You still have a spanking coming to you for not doing your work and skipping class." The professor ignored Harry's exclamation of dismay. "It's your decision as to whether you want yet another one for continuing to defy me. You _will_ be sitting at that desk for the next several hours doing your DADA homework, the only choice you have is how painful your backside will be while you do it."

Harry fought back his tears. He _wouldn't_ cry in front of the greasy git. He wouldn't. Snape was being totally unfair. He had already walloped him once _and_ promised another smacking before Harry left, now he was threatening him with a third? And what business of his was it anyway? If Harry didn't want to do his work, then that was Harry's decision. Snape had nothing to do with it. It was just like him to stick his big nose into things that didn't concern him. He didn't even care that Lockhart was a git – and pretending he wasn't just showed what a giant hypocrite the man was. It wasn't as if Snape would even sit near the man at the staff table, yet he had walloped Harry just because he had forgotten to use his title. That was just mean. Snape could whack him until his arse fell off, Harry wasn't going to do it. He just wasn't.

Snape watched the emotions flit across Harry's face and the boy's jaw set in a mutinous line. He frowned, recognizing that they were about to get into a contest of wills, where he tried to compel obedience with harder and harder swats under which Harry's fragile trust in him would shatter. Much of Snape's ire had been relieved by administering what he admitted were exceptionally sound slaps to the boy's bottom, and he knew Harry was feeling their sting. But along with the pain in his backside, it was clear from Harry's expression that his heart was hurting too. He was feeling betrayed and angry, not repentant and sorry. This would hardly promote their relationship.

Snape felt irritation with himself. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin's sake! Since when did he have to rely on brute force to intimidate a child or compel compliance? Besides, thanks to those appalling relatives, Harry had a high pain tolerance. Snape had no intention of leaving both of them with bruises. Better to distract the boy than to continue down this unprofitable path.

"Potter, why on earth are you trying to sabotage yourself in the one class in which you are certain to excel? Even if you were not receiving extra tutelage with me, you have a natural talent for DADA. Why are you making life harder for yourself?" Silence. Snape rolled his eyes. Now Harry was sulking and giving him the silent treatment. "Not doing your assignments is inexcusable. Surely you could have done this homework in your sleep."

Harry glared at the floor. His bottom really hurt and the last thing he wanted to do was to talk to the ugly bat who had smacked him. And for what? He hadn't done anything to deserve those whacks, especially not ones that were so hard. He was just being honest and telling Snape the truth. It wasn't even like he had _meant_ to insult Lockhart, but Snape had still walloped him for it. Well, fine. If he was going to be that way, then Harry might as well keep his mouth shut, since anything he said was going to get him hit.

"Potter." Silence. "Potter, answer me."

"Why?" Harry burst out angrily. "You're just going to hit me anyway."

"Potter –" Well, actually, he was. Snape had to acknowledge Harry's point. It had been foolish of him to remind the boy of the still-remaining punishment. It meant he had lost leverage over the brat. He took a deep breath. "Harry." As usual, the use of his first name brought the boy's eyes up, though the expression in them remained hurt and angry. "I am trying to understand your viewpoint. Why would you deliberately seek to fail a class in which you are talented?"

Harry felt a little twinge of pleasure at the compliment, but he was still too upset to be completely mollified. "Why do you care about my viewpoint now?" he muttered. "You already made up your mind that I'm rotten and arrogant and just like my father."

Snape winced internally. The boy's flashes of insight never failed to surprise him. He should have known that Harry would pick up on the fact that Snape had reacted not so much to Harry's words, but to the echo of James that Snape had heard in them. He would not have reacted so violently to any other student saying the same thing – it was his own memory of the elder Potter than had caused his reaction, not Harry's actual behavior.

Not that Harry's behavior didn't deserve chastisement, but, Snape had to admit, it hadn't merited the degree of punishment he'd administered. "I admit that your statement reminded me of your father," he said, choosing his words carefully, "and that made me respond more… forcefully… than I should. That is not to excuse your behavior," he added quickly, "but you are correct that I should have let you explain yourself first. I apologize."

Emerald eyes, wide with surprise, flew to meet his. Snape forced himself to meet the gaze steadily, revealing the apology that he sincerely felt. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. Would the boy accept?

His Slytherin instincts were still good. Harry's shoulders relaxed and a corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Okay," he allowed.

Wow. An apology. From a professor. And not just any professor, but Snape. Ron would never believe this. Maybe Snape wasn't such a bastard after all. And to be fair to the man, it wasn't like Harry had tried to explain himself either. He'd been pretty stubborn himself, all "NO" and "I WON'T". Maybe it wasn't such a surprise that Snape had thought he was being arrogant. And since Harry knew that Snape detested his father and thought he was a bigheaded git, he really should have been careful not to do anything that would make Snape think he was the same way. He was sort of responsible for getting Snape that mad that quickly. And he could have stopped it. If he had told Snape that he was being unfair or punishing his father not him, or even just said that Snape was scaring him, he was quite sure the professor would have stopped dead. Oh, he might have carried out the punishment eventually, but he had made such a point about the fact that "appropriate punishments" do not involve terror-inducing assaults that a request to stop would probably have worked.

But instead, Harry had just gotten angrier and sulkier, and the more Snape yelled and hit, the more righteously indignant Harry had felt. He sighed. Maybe he was every bit as immature as Snape claimed. He certainly hadn't done much to try to explain himself and avoid the big fight, and while Snape was the adult, it was, after all, Harry's backside. You'd think he would have been smart enough to try to protect his own skin, even – or perhaps especially – if it meant having to act like an adult.

"As you know, I have a temper," Snape said after a minute. "I hope that my hasty actions will not damage our relationship." He had once made a similar statement to Lily after losing his temper with her, and she had laughed and said that if he could do no better than so stilted an apology, then she had better stick around just to interpret for him with the other students. He hoped her son would react in a similar fashion.

Wow! A _second_ apology. From _Snape_. He must really be feeling guilty. And that meant he must really like Harry. Right? After all, he had just _said_ that he didn't want to damage their relationship. That meant it was important to him. Right?

Snape relaxed as Harry beamed at him. It was a little unnerving how quickly the boy forgave. Especially to someone like Snape who never forgot a grudge, Harry's ability to absolve others was nothing short of miraculous. Snape still harbored a grievance against Minerva McGonagall for scolding him during his third year when it had been the idiotic Ravenclaw seated next to him who had been talking in class, not him. It was hard for him to fathom how Harry could pardon harsh words and a harsher spanking even while his bottom still burned from the punishment.

"I've got a temper, too, Professor," Harry offered eagerly. "I'm sorry for getting mad and not even trying to explain."

"Now that we have both apologized, perhaps you would explain why you have not seen fit to attend DADA classes or do your assignments?" Snape waited, eyebrow raised.

"Well," Harry bit his lower lip, thinking of the best way to put it, "since I'm studying DADA with you, and you teach it a lot better than _Professor_ Lockhart does," Harry made sure to use the idiot's title, and Snape's lips twitched both at Harry's caution and the unconscious compliment, "it just seemed like it made more sense to spend the class preparing for our lessons."

"That is not acceptable, Mr Potter," Snape said sternly. "You must attend your classes. I am glad that you find our time together helpful, but this material is supplementary to your course syllabus. You will miss out on certain topics if you do not attend." For a moment he thought Harry was going to argue, but in the end the boy just shrugged in acceptance. Snape realized it was as much of a capitulation as he was going to get and decided not to push the matter any further.

"And your homework?" Harry's head shot up, his eyes once again guarded, and Snape continued quickly. "I am not going to debate the matter with you, Mr Potter. But before we become enmeshed in argument about _doing_ the homework, why don't you tell me why you are so adamant in your refusal to complete the work your professor assigns? I am well aware you know the material."

Harry snorted. "Even _you_ couldn't answer these questions."

Snape felt his temper rise again. So the little wretch thought he knew more than both Lockhart and him? Maybe he hadn't overreacted after all. But the boy was still talking. "The questions have nothing to do with DADA. They're just stupid. I'm not going to waste my time looking up answers I don't know, and neither would you."

Snape rubbed his jawline. Perhaps this was the way to take the boy down a notch. "Potter, I have a proposal for you. If I _can_ answer your homework, then you will admit that there is DADA material that you don't yet know and you will do all of your homework, past, present, and future, _and_ you will attend all classes from here on out. _And_ you will publicly apologize to your professor for your attitude." That last should teach Harry the folly of youthful arrogance.

But oddly enough, those emerald eyes were gleaming with anticipation, not concern. Oh, yes, this boy needed taking down.

"Okay, Professor, but if you _can't_ answer the questions without looking up the answers, then I _don't_ have to do the homework or apologize to that g- Professor Lockhart, _and_ I don't get smacked again or have to do lines."

Snape inclined his head in agreement. He wasn't planning on giving the boy anything more than a token spanking anyway, not after such a hard punishment earlier. Even a few light slaps would be painful on the boy's smarting and tender skin, but Snape wouldn't go back on his word. Still, if by some weird fluke there was a question or two he couldn't answer, perhaps he would agree to waive Potter's remaining punishments in return for his promise to attend classes and do his homework. That would enable the boy to save face while still ensuring he would meet his obligations.

Harry grinned. He was looking forward to this. He handed Snape the course syllabus. "Here, Professor. I don't care which assignment you do. You can choose."

Snape's eyebrows rose. Quite the cocky lad, wasn't he? Well, he was about to learn why it was foolish to give away any advantage, no matter how slight. Perhaps he would give the brat a few real swats after all, just to ensure that any latent James-like tendencies were curbed.

Snape flipped through the syllabus and found the first homework assignment. He read it and his jaw dropped. Ignoring the snickers he heard from the boy, he quickly flipped on to the next assignment. And the next. And the next. "POTTER!" he shouted, furious. "Stop this nonsense and give me the real assignments!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Those are the real assignments. If you don't believe me, ask Ron. Or Hermione. Or anyone. Ask Lockhart – I mean, Professor Lockhart – if you want."

"Don't be stupid, Potter," Snape spat out the words. "This isn't a homework assignment! _What color are Gilderoy Lockhart's eyes? What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite drink? Write a three foot essay describing why Gilderoy Lockhart is the most fascinating wizard of our time._ What is this – this _drivel_?"

"That's the homework you walloped me for not doing," Harry said politely, but there was immense satisfaction in his tone.

"No, I punished you for your attitude," Snape corrected automatically, still flipping through the syllabus in an increasingly hopeless effort to find something remotely related to DADA.

"Which you thought was arrogant because I refused to do that homework," Harry pointed out.

Snape barely heard him; he was too busy skimming the lesson content. Nothing on spells, dueling, hexes, Dark Arts. Everything on Gilderoy Lockhart, from his shoe size to his mother's hometown.

"What happens in his classes?" Snape demanded, turning back to Harry.

"He tells big fat lies about how brilliant he is and how he dueled and defeated all these powerful Dark wizards, and he reads from his press clippings and his autobiographies. And he has us answer his fan mail." Harry grimaced at the volume of Snape's outraged "WHAT?!"

"He does," Harry protested. "He makes us do it in his detentions too, that's why I stopped going." Oops. He hadn't exactly meant to admit that to Snape. He figured Lockhart hadn't reported him for skiving off because he didn't want to get on the bad side of The Boy Who Lived, and here he goes and blurts it out to Snape!

Snape shot him a glare, but it was clear he was too distracted to give Harry the scolding he deserved.

"Has class been like this the whole year?"

"So far," Harry agreed. This was actually kind of fun. It wasn't often he saw Snape so furious at someone else.

"Right," Snape snapped the syllabus down on the table. Only his white knuckled grasp of the document revealed his emotions. "You are _not_ to waste your time on this nonsense. I will speak with the Headmaster and ensure that that idi- Professor Lockhart will immediately adopt a more orthodox syllabus. I will also ensure that another faculty member, perhaps myself, attends his classes –"

Harry choked. No! Not that! "Please, Professor! You can't. I promise, I'll go to class. You don't have to sit in it and guard me!"

Snape snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, you foolish child. It's not _you_ I'll be watching, it's that moron Lockhart. I have no intention of him wasting the time of every student in the school on this narcissistic claptrap." He paused, looking sternly at Harry. "Why on earth did you not tell me about this earlier?"

Harry's eyes widened. Was Snape seriously about to blame _him_ for this? "What? What do you mean? What should I have said? He's an awful teacher? Binns is an awful teacher too, but no one does anything about him. Why would I think to say anything about Lo- Professor Lockhart? And besides, why is it my fault? Why didn't one of your Slytherins complain to you?"

"You are my ward – there is a much closer bond between us than between myself and the students in my House," Snape said impatiently, completely unaware of the shattering impact those few words just had on Harry. "I expect you to tell me _everything_ that impacts on your life – both academic and personal – and particularly if it has the potential to affect your ability to defeat the Dark Lord. Did it not occur to you that having a completely useless DADA teacher and thus losing a year of study would negatively impact your preparations?

"I cannot imagine _what_ the Headmaster was thinking to hire that egomaniac! He might as well hire a vampire or werewolf. We are preparing for war, and he is hiring pretty boy nitwits to teach our children the most important lessons of their lives…" Snape ranted on, but Harry was oblivious. He was floating on a happy pink cloud, wrapped in bliss. His bum had stopped hurting, his eventual confrontation with Voldemort didn't matter. Snape had said that he, Harry, mattered more to him than his little snakes. And _everyone_ knew how much Snape cared about the students in his House. If Snape had climbed onto the staff table in the middle of dinner in the Great Hall and publicly announced his devotion to Harry, it couldn't have been a more definite pronouncement, and the fact that he had clearly not even thought twice about making it made it even more special. Harry felt like his whole body was filled with a warm light. He hadn't felt this safe and cared for since his parents died.

"Potter!" A sharp shake to his shoulder brought him back to earth. "Are you done with your daydreaming, you silly child?" Snape's snarky tones rang in his ears. "Just because you are excused from DADA homework for the moment doesn't mean you have no work to do. What about that Transfiguration essay? I expect to see at least another six inches before you leave here this evening, and since the house elves will be bringing our tea and biscuits in another hour, I suggest you stop staring off into space and get busy."

Harry grinned. Yep, this was his Snape all right.

He moved to his bookbag and pulled out his desk chair, only to halt when Snape cleared his throat. The professor looked a bit awkward as he waved his wand and accio'd several large pillows to the hearth in front of the fireplace. "You may find it easier to concentrate lying in front of the fire, rather than sitting at the desk," he offered uncomfortably. Harry looked at him in delight. Sitting down in that hard chair would have been acutely painful; his backside was still stinging from the earlier whacks, and it would be infinitely more comfortable to lie on his stomach in front of the fire.

"Thanks!" he said, recognizing the offer as the further apology that it was. "And thanks for doing something about Lockhart – I mean, Prof-"

"It's all right, Harry. You can just call him by his surname," Snape said, then smirked at Harry's look of astonishment. "I have had to modify my position on the respect due to all professors."

Harry lay face-down on the cushions and got out his Transfigurations essay. Snape eyed him for a moment, then reached a decision. "Here."

Harry looked at the vial Snape was holding out. "What is it?"

"A standard healing potion – as you _should_ be able to recognize by now," Snape said pointedly. Harry sighed resignedly at the rebuke, but nodded obediently. "If you are still uncomfortable by the time you are getting ready for bed, take it. It was not my intention to cause you lasting discomfort, and I would be… distressed… if you remained so."

Harry looked from him to the potion and back again. "Then shouldn't I just take it now?" he asked mischievously. "Wouldn't want to cause you any worry."

Scowling, Snape reached down and smacked his upturned backside, careful to land the light slap in a previously untouched area. "Mind your cheek, Mr Potter, particularly when you are in such a vulnerable position."

"Ouch," Harry complained, but he had to duck his head to hide the grin on his face. "Can I at least have extra shortbread tonight?"

"If you make acceptable progress on your essay, that might be arranged," Snape agreed carelessly, seating himself at the desk and pulling over a stack of homework to be graded.

Harry settled down to his work with a little noise of contentment, and Snape hid a smile of his own. Lily would be pleased.

_TBC…_


	10. Chapter 10

The panicked knocking on the door to his private quarters woke Snape. A quick glance confirmed what his grogginess had already told him: it was barely 2 am. Alert for trouble, he opened the door with his wand drawn and a curse on his lips. Not that he expected an assassin to knock, but he had survived too many traps not to be cautious.

When he recognized the two of them standing there, he was sorely tempted to let fly with the curse. "Mr Potter, why are you out after curfew, pounding on my door?"

The brat had the temerity to shove past him, his eyes wide and frightened. "Nightmare," he gasped, his arm slung around Weasley's shoulders.

Snape's irritation vanished. "Was it a vision?" he asked quickly, hurrying to help the boy to the couch.

"Not me," Harry said, surprised. "Ron."

Snape jerked to a halt. "_Weasley_ had a nightmare?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, busy settling his friend on Snape's couch and tucking him in with the afghan he plucked from Snape's stunned grasp. "It was really bad. He was screaming about Vold- erm, You Know Who. And he –"

"Potter!" Snape snapped, glaring at the two. He noted absently that Weasely did look awful, pale and shivering with his hair matted down with sweat. "Why in Merlin's name did you drag me out of bed?"

"He needs Dreamless Sleep," Harry answered, surprised.

Snape gritted his teeth. "Last time I checked, Madame Pomfrey also had a supply of potions, and_ she_ is the normal person to assist a student in difficulty. _Particularly_ in the middle of the night!"

Ron was shivering despite the blanket around his shoulders. "No. No Infirmary," he said between chattering teeth.

"See?" Harry turned back to his friend.

"_Mr Potter_." Snape snatched him by the shoulder and spun him back around. Harry's eyes widened as for the first time he registered Snape's disapproval. "Your delivery of Mr Weasley is both unwelcome and inappropriate. Professor McGonagall is the adult responsible for the welfare of your House, and –"

"She doesn't have her own stock of potions," Harry interrupted, a scowl of his own developing. "So she'd just send him to Madame Pomfrey, where he doesn't want to go!"

"Then he must not be in that much distress!" Snape realized his mistake as he saw Harry's eyes flash with anger. _Never_, he groaned to himself, arouse a Gryffindor's protective streak. Especially at two in the morning.

"Oh yes he is!" Harry snapped back. "You didn't hear him screaming and crying. He dreamt he had turned into Voldemort."

Snape's gaze flashed to Weasley, who looked both guilty and mortified.

"Ron said he wouldn't go to the Infirmary or to Professor McGonagall but he let me bring him here." Again Snape saw that flash of guilt cross Weasley's face, and he understood what was tormenting the redhead.

Bloody oversensitive imbecilic guilt-ridden Gryffindors, Snape cursed to himself. Weasley was obviously torturing himself over what he had done to Snape. In the absence of a punishment imposed upon him, he'd developed his own chastisement from within his own mind.

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation. He had hoped to make the brat sweat, letting his dread of Snape's eventual retribution drive him mad, but instead his oversized conscience (not to mention his tendency for exaggeration) had decided that he must be as bad as the Dark Lord himself and was administering the worst torment it could.

This didn't suit Snape at all. He wanted Weasley frightened of _him_, not of some nonsensical nightmare. "Weasley, you really are an idiot," Snape snarled. The boy ducked his head and looked even more wretched, but Harry – predictably – flared.

"Don't call him names! It's not his fault he had a nightmare!"

"Oh, no?" Snape raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Weasley, but the boy avoided his eyes. So he hadn't told Harry anything, then…

"No!" the boy in question shouted. Now in a complete temper, Harry stepped in front of Ron, forcing Snape to speak to him. "You're nothing but hypocrites," he yelled. "You and Dumbledore and McGonagall – you all _say_ you care and that you want us to come to you with problems, but when we do, you won't help! Well, fine. Just forget it. I bet Hermione can make the bloody potion just as good as you!" He spun to help Ron up, and Snape grabbed him by the back of his collar.

Frog-marching the furious boy out of the room, Snape spoke over his shoulder. "Sit on your hands, Weasley, and if you move so much as an inch while we're gone, you won't be able to sit again until Christmas!"

Not even bothering to make sure he was obeyed, Snape continued out of the room, dragging Harry into the hall and closing the door behind them. "Mr Potter, give me one good reason why I shouldn't punish you for your blatant disrespect and discourteous attitude," he said sternly, striving for calm.

"_My_ discourteous attitude?" Harry retorted angrily. "_You've _been nothing _but_ discourteous since we arrived."

"If you turn up on someone's doorstep at two in the morning, do not expect them to be particularly hospitable."

"You make it sound like we came by for tea. It was an emergency! I needed help and so I came. I see now what a big mistake I made. Sorry to have troubled you, Professor!" he sneered with elaborate, sarcastic courtesy. "I should have known better."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed coffee. Loath though he was to admit it, Harry had a point.

All of his efforts to develop an improved relationship with the boy had in fact paid off. Harry had turned to him for help in a time of crisis. That was a good thing – though at 2 am he felt he could be excused for not being overjoyed at this sign of progress.

Seeing the lines of fatigue etched on Snape's face had dampened Harry's ire a bit. "I didn't think you'd mind so much," he huffed, defensive. "You take care of _me _when _I_ have a nightmare."

Snape struggled for patience. "There is a difference," he said evenly. "Your nightmares may be visions from the Dark Lord. It is important to seek my help with them. Furthermore, I am acting as your guardian, so it is appropriate for you to come to me with –"

"And I _am_. So why are you being such a git?" The instant the word slipped out, Harry regretted it. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he blurted, backing up a step.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry could see the struggle in them – to swat or not to swat? When the professor let out a long, slow breath, Harry sagged in relief.

"I really _am_ sorry," he repeated, less frantically but with patent sincerity. "I shouldn't have said that. I was just really angry."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement of the apology. The boy was making progress - that had been quite well put. "We are both tired and tempers are short," he agreed, as close as he would come to an apology of his own. "But while I am very pleased both by your asking for help and by your trusting me to assist you, I must still point out that there is a sizable difference between my helping you and helping another Gryffindor."

"But it's not just another Gryffindor," Harry protested, though he felt a warm rush of pleasure at Snape's praise. "It's _Ron_."

"Mr Potter, there are several reasons I should not help Mr Weasley," Snape said in tones of finality.

"And several reasons why you _should_," Harry shot back, undaunted.

"Such as?" Snape asked dubiously,

"If I tell you, will you help him?" Harry bargained.

"If you can come up with a valid reason – as defined by _me_ – then yes," Snape smirked, confident in Harry's inability to build a logical argument but pleased enough to encourage such Slytherin cunning.

Harry smirked right back. "First, he's my best mate. That means his problems are my problems, and you already said you'd help me with my problems."

Snape pressed his lips together. That was almost reasonable. Perhaps he had underestimated Potter. He was Lily's son, after all. "No, Mr Potter. By that logic, I should assist you with every minor detail of your life, including unpalatable seat assignments and minor squabbles with your classmates."

Harry was unfazed by the argument's rejection. "Okay, then you should do it because the Weasleys have practically adopted me – unofficially, I mean, though they've told the Headmaster that they want to for real." Snape nodded cautiously. He knew the Weasley clan kept pestering Dumbledore. As if they didn't have a large enough brood already! "So that makes Ron sort of my brother. And you're kind of my guardian now, right? So that makes you Ron's guardian too, sort of. Like you're related to me and he's related to me, so you're related to each other!" Harry looked at him triumphantly.

Snape fought down queasiness. It was much too early even to _contemplate_ being related to Weasleys. "_Absolutely not._"

Potter scowled, but then determinedly returned to the attack. "Okay," his voice held nothing but resolve. "Then you should help him because it's good for the war."

Snape snorted in disbelief, but Harry pressed on. "I know I've got to fight You Know Who, but Ron and Hermione are going to fight too." He paused, giving Snape a guilty look. "I don't want them to, and I told them that, but Hermione says she and her parents are already in danger since her folks are Muggles. And Ron's family fought against Him in the first war, so He already thinks they're blood traitors. Plus everyone already knows they're my best friends so they'll be in danger no matter what, and they say they'd rather fight than hide." For all his words, his tone was uncertain, and Harry looked at Snape as if asking for his opinion. Snape nodded. Whatever his personal opinion of the know-it-all and the moron, he did agree with their decision. Having seen all too closely what Death Eaters could do, Snape was convinced that it was better for people to be as prepared as possible to fight them. If nothing else, it might make their deaths quicker and less agonizing.

"Okay." Harry seemed slightly heartened by Snape's agreement (or at least lack of argument). "So that means we're all going to be fighting You Know Who, and the less we trust each other, the easier it will be for Voldie." Snape looked at him sharply. _Voldie?_ Harry grinned briefly. "You know Ron doesn't, erm, trust you very much. If you help him now, though, he'll get to know you and trust you like I do – " Snape was jolted by the casualness with which Harry made such a statement. Did the boy not realize what he had just said? Perhaps it was the early hour; he wasn't thinking clearly. Oblivious to his professor's shock, Harry continued blithely, " - so it'll be easier for him to work with you and the rest of us against You Know Who."

Blast. Against all expectations, the brat had come up with a reasonable argument. Snape scowled. He was going to have to commend Harry's logic and actually help Weasley. Could this night get any worse? "Very well." He managed not to let his teeth grinding become audible. "I will assist Mr Weasley."

To Snape's astonishment, Harry threw his arms around his waist. "I knew you would!"

Snape snorted, but he patted the boy on the back before stepping away from the embrace. Better to get away before the brat realized what he had done. _Obviously_ the hour must be making the boy act in this uninhibited fashion. A Potter would never voluntarily touch a Snape; the boy's father would be spinning in his grave. "Yes, well, I'm not sure you should have been quite that confident."

Harry grinned, giddy with both relief and fatigue. "Oh, I had two other arguments that would _definitely_ have worked. I'm just glad I didn't have to use them."

Curious, Snape paused en route to his Potions storeroom. "Oh? Why is that?"

" 'Cause you'd have helped, but you'd've been mad," Harry replied candidly.

"Enunciate properly, Mr Potter. Even at this hour there is no excuse to speak in such a sloppy fashion," Snape reproved automatically, but his curiosity was piqued. "Why would I have been angry?"

Harry paused, a glint of mischief in his eye. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to whack me."

"Why would I 'whack' you?" Snape's suspicious instincts were now quivering.

"Well, I figured if you were completely unreasonable and nothing else worked, I'd just have to offer you a quidquo."

Snape frowned, thinking. Then: "You mean a _quid pro quo_?"

Harry nodded. "I thought that might work, you being a Slytherin and all."

"And what were you planning to do for me in exchange for my assisting Mr Weasley?"

"It's more what I was offering _not_ to do," Harry admitted, smirking.

"Explain," Snape ordered silkily, closing the distance between them.

Harry, busy fighting off an attack of the giggles, didn't notice. "Well, I figured that I'd explain that if you wouldn't help, then I'd tell everyone something you wouldn't like them to know."

Snape's jaw tightened. The possibilities were nearly endless. The Potter brat knew a great deal of sensitive information about his connections to the Dark Lord. Add to that the unprecedented amount of time he had spent in Snape's company, including his private quarters, and who knew what he might have stumbled across? "Such as?" He wasn't certain if he was pleased by such extortionist tactics or appalled by them. Did Minerva realize what her little lions were capable of? Or were fears of Voldemort's return causing students to behave uncharacteristically? Were some of his Slytherins running around, engaging in foolish heroics?

"Such as that you _hugged_ me," Harry announced gleefully. "And if they didn't believe me, I would tell them that they could ask the Headmaster. And then, once they got over the shock of that, I was going to tell them that your middle name was Rainbow."

"WHAT?" Snape bellowed, clutching at the wall. "My middle name is _Tobias_!"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, but once I got them to believe me, I figured I might as well make it good. Oh, and I was going to tell them that you keep a bunny here in your quarters as your familiar and you call him Mr Snuggles." He started to laugh at Snape's horrified countenance. "And – and that when you were a kid you slept with a p-plushie unicorn named Buttercup. And that – _ouch!_"

Snape, seeing the imminent destruction of his carefully constructed persona, had reacted predictably. Snatching Harry by the collar, he tucked him under one arm and brought the other hand down smartly onto the seat of Harry's dressing gown.

"Ow! You promised!" Harry protested, but his indignant tone was hampered by the fact that he couldn't wholly suppress his snickers.

"I did _not_ promise," Snape pointed out between clenched teeth. "And you were quite right to assume I would not take kindly to blackmail."

"Oh, come on. _Ouch!_ It's a perfect Slytherin plan," Harry argued, squirming. "You should – ow! – be awarding me points for initiative. Ouch! Not so hard! It's not like I actually did it!"

At that, Snape righted Harry and turned his fiercest glare on the boy. "If you ever even _contemplate_ spreading such arrant nonsense –"

Harry grinned impertinently at him. His face was flushed and his hair even more tousled than usual, but the swats had obviously done little to squelch his cheeky attitude. Snape glowered. Clearly he should have used more force with the smacks, but who would have expected the boy to have become so impervious to his threatening manner? "I bet I could convince at least half your first years. Want to wager?"

Snape reached for his collar again, and Harry skipped backwards, holding up his hands in surrender. He didn't lose his smirk, though. "Okay, okay. Don't be so crabby."

"Crabby!" Snape's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. This insolence was going to stop _at once_. "If you don't want a _real_ punishment, Mr Potter, you will begin to show me the proper respect right now." There was not the slightest hint of humor in his tone or expression, and Harry's smile slowly faded.

Snape watched, hiding his surprise, as Harry's impish expression was replaced by first uncertainty, then dismay, and finally guilt. "I'm sorry." At last Harry spoke, staring at the ground. All animation had left him. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful. You've been really brilliant, you know. I wasn't trying to make you angry. I thought you'd – y'know – find it funny." His hands crept around to his backside and started to rub gingerly.

Snape looked down on the bent head and slumped shoulders and sighed silently. Merlin, but the boy was fragile. His own irritation had been assuaged, partly when it became clear that the boy hadn't truly intended any disrespect, and partly when he realized that he hadn't lost his touch in intimidating the brat. He just needed to use different methods than he had originally. "Your efforts to enlist my sympathy are futile, Mr Potter. You allowed too much time to lapse before indicating distress," he commented sternly, but his tone was significantly less harsh than a few moments before.

Harry glanced up, confused. "Sympathy?"

Snape tugged Harry's hand around from where it was soothing away the sting of the swats. "If you wish me to feel remorse for my brutal assault upon your posterior, it would behoove you not to snigger while I am administering the blows."

Harry stared at him. Was Snape actually making a joke? He had sounded so furious – as if he really believed Harry would have said all that stuff about him – that Harry's bum had started to smart. Harry had been laughing so much when the swats first fell, he hadn't really paid much attention to them, but when the happy bubble in his chest had been burst by Snape's betrayed expression, he had felt their effect in a weird sort of delayed reaction. Now, watching Snape carefully, he thought it looked as though he was no longer angry. More… tired.

"I wouldn't have really done it, you know. I was just kidding," he said quietly, peering up through his fringe at the tall man.

"I do know that, Harry," Snape admitted, deliberately using the boy's first name and seeing his lips curve in an answering smile. "But for a moment, I wasn't so sure."

"What? How could you think I'd do something like that!" Harry yelped, insulted.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. "As you pointed out, it was a very Slytherin plan. Do you really imagine that a Slytherin wouldn't be serious in making such an offer?"

Harry's eyes widened as he thought about it. "You mean Draco would have gone through with it?"

"No; Mr Malfoy has too keen a sense of self-preservation to consider such a plan, let alone share it with me, even in jest," Snape replied with a pointed look. "_That_ was not a particularly intelligent move."

Harry looked penitent for about three seconds, then the memory of Snape's expression leapt to mind and he started to snicker again.

"Potter –" Snape began warningly, only to be interrupted.

"M-Mr Snuggles," Harry choked, trying to hold in his laughter.

"Potter, you have exactly ten seconds to get yourself under control, or you will _not_ be able to sit in class tomorrow!"

"Yes, Professor… Rainbow!" Harry ducked away from Snape's grab at his ear and managed to control himself. "Okay, sorry. That was the last one, I promise."

Snape rolled his eyes but was too tired to go into full-out ogre mode. "Potter, it is two in the morning. I suggest we get the potion you came for and go to our respective beds."

Reminded of his friend, waiting in Snape's sitting room, Harry sobered quickly. "Right. Poor Ron."

As he selected a Dreamless Sleep potion from his shelf, Snape glanced down at the boy beside him. "What was the other one?"

"What other one?" Harry asked distractedly, peering at all the weirdly glowing potion vials.

"You said you had _two_ back-up plans that you could have used. The blackmail attempt was one. What was the other?"

Harry looked extremely uncomfortable. "Nothing."

"Potter, do _not_ insult my intelligence by lying to me."

"Okay, okay," the boy squirmed, whining, "I won't lie about it, but I don't want to tell you either."

"Is it that likely to earn you another spanking?" Snape asked drily.

Harry shook his head, but he didn't rise to the bait. Snape's curiosity began to itch, and he recognized that if he didn't find out what Potter's plan had been, he'd be up all night speculating about it.

"If I promise not to 'whack' you, will you tell me?" Another head shake.

"What if I promise not to get angry?" Head shake.

"Come now, boy! It can hardly be _that_ Slytherin a plan!"

" 'S not Slytherin." He could barely hear Harry's words, they were so soft and directed towards the boy's feet. " 'S H'f'l'p'f."

Snape struggled to make sense of the mumble. "It was a Hufflepuff plan?" he echoed in astonishment. "How so?" he demanded. Coming to a complete stop, he caught the boy by the elbow, forcing him to do likewise.

Harry was scarlet and wouldn't meet his gaze. "Potter, tell me." Nothing. "Harry?"

The boy broke, as Snape knew he would. "I – I figured if nothing else worked, I'd just ask you to do it. For me." The last two words were all but inaudible, and Snape recognized what an effort it had been, regardless of the hour, for the boy to say them.

Snape's own color flared. This was tantamount to a declaration of - well – something, and Snape wasn't sure how he felt about it, nor even how he _wanted_ to feel about it.

"I see…"

Harry felt like a total prat. He had just gone ahead and blurted out his feelings like a needy toddler! Could he get any more pathetic? And now Snape would sneer and demand to know why he thought that a plea of "Do it for me!" from a _Potter_ would ever make Snape do anything but the opposite of the requested action. Bad enough that he had been distracted enough before to actually _grab_ the man in a _hug_. He was still surprised that Snape hadn't pushed him away, or even clouted him like Uncle Vernon would have.

What had he been thinking? Trying to _cuddle _Snape? He knew Snape loathed that sort of thing. Okay, he'd realized that day in the Headmaster's office that Snape didn't actually _hate_ him anymore, that maybe, thanks to his mum, Snape actually felt even a little sorry for him, and then Snape had said all that stuff about his being his ward. But for Harry to blurt his feelings out like that, as if it were something Snape wanted to hear… No, he had been stupid, stupid, _stupid_. It's not as if Snape _wanted_ to like him, but between his mum and the prophecy and his guardianship and Harry's role in the war, he had gotten used to him and didn't actively despise him – which was great. But to make it sound like he thought Snape was all soppy about him, or like he expected Snape to act like a doting relative and indulge him in any stupid request like the Dursleys did for Dudley – well, Merlin only knew how much damage Harry had just done to their relationship.

Oh no – he was clearing his throat. Here it came. This was going to be awful.

"Well, Potter, I suppose that would have worked," Snape finally allowed quietly, then swept on down the hall and into the sitting room, leaving a gobsmacked Harry staring after him.

_TBC…_


	11. Chapter 11

Ron paused outside Snape's quarters, fighting down an almost-overwhelming need to sick up. The other night, after returning with the Dreamless Sleep potion and finding Ron frozen in place, Snape had informed Ron that his detention would start the following evening at seven.

Ron knew perfectly well what he was referring to, but of course Harry hadn't and he had assumed that Snape was punishing Ron for his nightmare and disturbing Snape's rest. There had been quite a lot of shouting between the two of them before Ron had finally burst out with, "Shut it, Harry! This is for when I punched him in Dumbeldore's office, all right? He – he put it off for a while because he and the Headmaster were too busy figuring out who was after you for him to supervise detentions."

Both stared at him as if he had sprouted two heads, then Harry had blushed and started to apologize to Snape. Snape brushed aside the apology and rather cuttingly asked if they were done invading his quarters and shrieking at him, and they had quickly found themselves trudging through dark halls back to the Gryffindor Tower.

Happily Harry didn't wonder why the punishment had been _so_ delayed. He was too busy worrying if he had hurt Snape's feelings. "Are you mental?" Ron had finally asked. "This is _Snape_. What feelings?"

"Hey!" Harry flared back. "He just gave you Dreamless Sleep. Don't act like he's the enemy."

"He _is_. He's a professor and a snarky one at that," Ron snapped back, though it was more an automatic response than anything else. In truth, Ron had been amazed at how lenient Snape had been with them. Not only had he tolerated their intrusion and given them the requested potion, but he hadn't taken Harry's head off when he yelled at Snape. Several times.

Ron had been worried at first when Snape had dragged Harry out of the room, and he had thought he'd overheard the sound of whacks being applied to someone's bum a few minutes later, but when Harry had returned with Snape, he showed no signs of tears, mortification, or discomfort. Plus he'd promptly gotten into another argument with the man. Hardly the action of someone who'd just been spanked for insolence.

Obviously Harry was having a mellowing influence on the man, though Ron doubted that the fact that Harry could now get away with stuff meant that Snape would extend that largesse to anyone else. After all, the man had been playing favorites with his Slytherins and Malfoy for years. No reason to assume that just because he had adopted a new pet he would be any less snarky to those he didn't care about.

Still, Ron was glad Harry seemed to have someone looking out for him. His Muggle relatives were worse than nothing, and while Dumbledore and McGonagall were obviously fond of him, they hadn't been really _useful_ at helping him. After all, the dotty old Headmaster had been the one to stick Harry with the Dursleys and leave him there all those years. At least Snape had promptly removed him from them and was – Ron had to admit – helping Harry in a lot of ways, from his lessons to his overall attitude. Harry was a lot less quiet and wary than he had been… as his shouting at Snape demonstrated. Ron's mum would be pleased. She always worried that Harry was too nervous and high strung. She'd be relieved to see that he was a lot more relaxed these days _and_ he even seemed less worried about having to fight You Know Who. Obviously having a plan and being trained by Snape was a lot better than just relying on some weird, unprecedented magic that no one understood.

But while Ron was happy for Harry and _his _relationship with Snape, he was still panicked by the thought of what the greasy git was about to do to him. Yes, he deserved it. Yes, he was willing to undergo practically any torture or humiliation to avoid expulsion, but why, oh _why_, did it have to be the most evil teacher in the school who was about to lay into him? If he had to go after a member of the staff, why couldn't it have been a gentle Hufflepuff like Professor Sprout, or even little Professor Flitwick who might be a dueling champion but was still easily sidetracked by intelligent questions and possessed a sense of humor that made him surprisingly lenient towards pranksters. Even McGonagall, whose sternness was legendary, might have taken a little pity on him as a member of her House, and Trelawny or Lockhart would have been unable to think of anything worse than killing him by boredom as they droned on and on at him.

But no, it was Snape. _Good on_e_, Ron,_ he told himself bitterly, _you had to go after the one known Death Eater on the entire faculty. This git engaged in real, live torture and from all accounts he still misses it. No amateur fumblings for you – Snape is going to know exactly how to make you howl._

His stomach gave another lurch and Ron realized two things. One, if he kept thinking about this, he really was going to be sick right there in the hall, and two, if he didn't enter the room right now, he'd be late. Terror at the thought of the second drove all worries of the first out of his mind and he hurriedly banged on the door for entrance.

It was flung open a moment later, and Snape loomed before him.

"S- sir," Ron began haltingly, only to be snatched by the shoulder and dragged into the room.

"Don't dawdle, Weasley," Snape rebuked coldly. "It would hardly be easy to explain what you are doing outside my private quarters."

"Yes, sir," he gulped. "I- I'm here to start my punishment."

"Well, obviously," Snape sneered. "Very well. I assume you are wondering why I had you come to my quarters and not the classroom?"

Ron figured it would be safest to nod, though he had actually assumed that the silencing spells were better here, and Snape would be starting off the punishment with something particularly nasty.

"While I am not unmindful that our agreement was for you to serve as a general factotum, assisting me with preparation of potion ingredients and other unpleasant chores," Snape began, looking a little uncomfortable, "it has occurred to me that our somewhat unusual agreement has had the effect of removing you from the normal disciplinary actions of your family." Ron struggled to understand what the man was saying. Why couldn't he just use normal English words? "As you had indicated to me that your parents were likely to combine corporal punishment –" Ron understood _that_ "- with restrictions and extra chores, it appears fitting that I take similar action." Ron gulped – he'd been right. Snape _was_ going to beat the hell out of him. "Obviously your work for me will provide the restriction from pleasant activities and the imposition of unwelcome tasks, but despite our previous conversation about my disinclination to become Gryffindor's disciplinarian, your own behavior has made it clear that some sort of physical punishment would not come amiss." At Ron's bewildered look, Snape rolled his eyes and amplified. "Your conscience is tormenting you through your dreams. A sound spanking will ensure that your subconscious recognizes that you are being properly punished for your actions and additional lashings of morbid guilt are unneeded."

Oh. Well, Snape was right that he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd done and how it proved that he would grow up to be a Death Eater himself. Ron just doubted that a simple walloping would change his conviction that he was destined for the Dark… and he had his doubts that what Snape was planning to do was merely a "sound spanking". He rather assumed several rounds of being hexed and cursed and beaten would be involved. After all, considering Snape's knowledge of – and experience with – the Dark Arts, why wouldn't he use them on Ron? Especially if he were trying to recruit him for Voldemort, the more Dark spells he used on him, the better, right? Wasn't it true that the Cruciatus didn't leave any visible marks?

"Very well then." Snape led Ron over to an armless chair and seated himself, positioning Ron at his side. The redhead blinked. Could Snape be serious? Was he really only planning to wallop him?

Before he could voice any of his questions, he'd been tugged across Snape's lap and lifted into place. His backside was perfectly positioned for Snape's hand, and he grabbed the chair legs to anchor himself and avoid reaching back to protect his rear. He assumed Snape would hex his arms off if he tried. Snape lifted his robe out of the way, but to Ron's surprise, that was the extent of the disrobing.

"You know why you are receiving this spanking, Mr Weasley?"

"Yes, sir," Ron managed to croak through his dry as dust throat. Here it came…

Snape paused, recalling Weasley's nightmare. "Let me be very clear, Mr Weasley," he said, tapping Ron's seat for emphasis. "You are being punished for sabotaging a demonstration, deliberately causing an explosion, hexing me, and using atrocious language in front of the Headmaster."

Ron winced. It sounded so awful, laid out like that, and his bum was already tingling in anticipation. Why didn't Snape just get it over with?

"You are _not_, however, being punished for your idea itself, for trying to protect Harry, for developing and implementing a cunning plan, for thinking creatively and subtly, or for jumping to an inaccurate but logical conclusion. Do you understand?"

Astonished, Ron peered over his shoulder at Snape. "You're not mad about the plan? But I stole the venom out of your storeroom and I blew up your cauldron, and I made everyone think you did it, and I punched you, and –"

"Mr Weasley," Snape interrupted, and Ron could almost swear there was amusement in his tone, "are you _trying_ to make your punishment worse?"

"N-no, but I don't understand why you're not just as upset about these other things," Ron replied, too confused to be anything but honest.

"Mr Weasley," Snape sighed in exasperation. "I am not the ogre you believe. I do not blame you for trying your best to help your friend."

"But I acted like a Slytherin!"

"Yes."

Ron nearly reared up at the calm syllable. "And I'm a Gryffindor!"

"Yes."

Ron huffed. "I should have known you wouldn't understand. I bet you wouldn't be happy if Draco started acting like us, but you probably think it's good if we all start acting like the Dark Lord. _OUCH_!" Surprised at both the delivery of a hard smack to his bum and the amount of sting the single slap had delivered, Ron craned his neck around and winced anew at the scowl on Snape's face.

"I wasn't being rude," he explained hastily. "Or at least I didn't mean to be. It's just that Gryffindors have different standards than Slytherins." He saw Snape's hand come up for another whack and he flinched, but the dour man changed his mind and lowered his hand for a mere attention-focusing tap. It landed right where the previous swat had, though, and imparted enough force to the tender spot to make Ron grimace. The imminent spanking would not be pleasant. But Snape was speaking…

"That bloody Hat," he muttered, as much to himself as to Ron, "has much to answer for."

"Sir?" Ron asked blankly.

"Mr Weasley, contrary to what you may think, there _are_ absolutes of Right and Wrong, and they do not vary from House to House. It is true that different Houses tend to have different approaches to problems and emphasize different aspects of a personality, but I assure you the Slytherin approach of subtlety is no more inherently evil than the Gryffindor approach of direct action. It is not the method nor the weapon that is good or bad, but the ends to which they are put. Did not your own actions make this point to you?"

Ron frowned, thinking, as Snape continued his lecture.

"If I _had_ been guilty of the crimes you suspected me, your actions would have been both justified and likely effective. The plan itself was not evil, it was clever. You must learn –" an emphatic tap to be sure the boy was listening "- to utilize _all_ aspects of your personality, not merely those you consider appropriately Gryffindor-ish. I promise you that the Dark Lord's behavior is less a reflection upon the House of Slytherin than on his own mental health. Or have you forgotten that Gryffindor has villains of its own?"

Ron squirmed. This was a most uncomfortable conversation, and not just because it was taking place while he was lying, bottom upturned, over his least favorite professor's lap. The points Snape was making sounded awfully reasonable, but they couldn't possibly be correct. Each of the Houses equally valuable? No inherent evil in Slytherin? His coming up with a plan worthy of Voldemort didn't mean that he was doomed to become a Death Eater? "In Gryffindor we don't idolize bad guys the way Slytherins do," he protested.

"Mr Weasley, we are in the midst of a war, and people are choosing sides. The Dark Lord would certainly prefer to be thought of as the reincarnation of a powerful and respected wizard from antiquity rather than the unstable half-blooded orphan that he is. Accordingly, he does his best to ally himself with this House. In this, he is aided by the influence of several powerful Dark families with ties to this House. But there are also those in this House who oppose You Know Who as strongly as anyone alive."

Ron blushed. He knew enough to be aware that Snape's activities had put in him more danger from Voldemort than anyone else, even Harry, and he was Slytherin to the core. Could it be true that thinking like a Slytherin was not necessarily evil?

"Fanatics of any stripe are dangerous," Snape said gravely. "It is true that Slytherins often act out of ambition and a desire for power, while Gryffindors are more self-sacrificing, but just as many atrocities have been committed for 'the greater good' as for personal gain. And to the victims, the end results are the same."

"What do you mean?"

"Does it matter if your home is burned, your family killed, and you enslaved because someone wants you as free labor or because they think that doing so is the only way to bring you to eternal salvation? Does you think it hurts more if you are being tortured to satisfy someone's dark desires than in an effort to save your soul?" Snape paused, letting Ron think over his words. "Muggle and Wizarding history is full of examples of people so convinced that they were doing the right thing that they committed unspeakable atrocities. The question of whether the ends justify the means is just as valid for your House as for mine, even if Gryffindors tend to convince themselves that it's fine to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many, whilst Slytherins are less self-deluding and tend to concern themselves with the needs of the few or the one."

"But what's wrong with sacrificing the needs of the few for the good of the many?" Ron argued. "Wouldn't the few _want_ to be sacrificed under those circumstances?"

"And if they don't volunteer, will you coerce them?" Snape asked. "Considering your regard for Mr Potter, I'm surprised that you are so willing to treat people as pawns. Does this mean you are willing to see him sacrificed for the sake of the war?" Ron stared at him in horror. "If I were to tell you that my previous treatment of Mr Potter was intended to toughen him up so that he grew hard and unfeeling and became better able to face the Dark Lord, would you then welcome my actions? If the Headmaster insisted that he stay with his abusive relatives so that he remains convinced of his own worthlessness and that much more willing to sacrifice himself for the rest of us, would you consider the torments of his childhood to be justified?"

Ron paled. "Is that why –"

"Potter is not going back to those Muggles," Snape said quickly. "But do you understand the seduction of power? It is not only Slytherins who respond to its allure."

Ron chewed his lower lip. Maybe he wasn't doomed to grow up to be a follower of Voldemort. Or was Snape just saying all this to trick him? Wasn't that what a Slytherin would do?

"The Houses were never intended to encourage students to develop uni-dimensional characters. If you ignore or suppress various talents you will become nothing more than a caricature. It is the integration of the different aspects of your character that will enable you to be successful in your studies, your life, and your fight against the Dark Lord."

Ron snorted. "I dunno that anything can help with my studies," he commented, expecting wholehearted agreement from his perennially displeased Potions professor.

"Your scholastic mediocrity derives – despite Ms Granger's best efforts – from a willful disregard of good study habits. As your recent actions demonstrate, when properly motivated, you can exceed even the impressive academic exploits of your siblings."

Now Ron _knew_ he was hallucinating. No way had Snape just complimented him and his whole family.

Something of his disbelief must have communicated itself to Snape, for the professor said, in long suffering tones, "Weasley, did it not occur to you that Gringott's hires only the best? Or that your brother Charlie is one of a very small number of people who can work with dragons without being consumed or incinerated? And while Percy is an annoying prig, it is his impressive memory that allows him to memorize the rule book and his wit that permits him to anticipate and detect violations. Lastly, although I am extremely reluctant to compliment the twins, given their appalling tendency to foment chaos wherever they go, they would not be half so annoying if they were less brilliant at devising pranks or adapting potions to entirely inappropriate uses. Yet none of them have your skill with strategy nor the courage you have displayed in safeguarding your friends, regardless of the personal cost."

Ron gulped. "But – but I still screwed up. I still blew up your lab."

"Ah yes. And that is why you are being punished." And with that, Snape began.

_TBC…_


	12. Chapter 12

Ron was never afterwards sure how long it lasted. His brain swore it was over in barely a minute, but his bum was convinced it had been hours.

He knew by the fourth swat that he was in for it. By then, the sting of the swats was rapidly building to a fiery blaze, and he was yelping and squirming with every whack. By the tenth, he was bawling, though it was as much from relief that he was finally getting the worst of his punishment over with as from the inferno painfully raging in his bum.

Several swats later, Snape turned his attention to the sensitive lower half of Ron's backside, and the volume of the boy's howls reached an all-time high. As much as the rest of his bum hurt, the surgically precise placement of these swats – and their resultant sting and burn – made Ron seriously wonder if Snape weren't using some highly targeted version of the Cruciatus.

He eventually surrendered to the awful burning-stinging-throbbing-smoldering agony that had supplanted his previously unappreciated backside and lay limply across Snape's lap, blubbering. There was a pause, then one last almighty whack across his arse, and the barrage of swats finally ended.

Ron lay there and wept. He was too drained even to feel further relief. He was confused in mind and spirit, aching in body, and he felt extremely young and foolish. Most of all, though, he couldn't bring himself to face Snape.

"All right, Mr Weasley. You may rise." Snape made to assist the boy, but found himself having to lift Weasley bodily from his lap, as the redhead was still crying too hard to obey.

Once upright, Weasley kept his head down, sobbing, even as his hands clutched his abused rear. Snape knew the boy's bottom would surely feel as if it were ablaze just now, but Snape was still surprised at the force of the child's emotions. Surely this wasn't all due to the admittedly thorough spanking? After all, Weasley had had his share of Quidditch injuries, and as much as his backside might sting, it _was_ just his bum. Nothing was broken, no permanent harm had been done. So why all these tears?

Snape sighed. More snot on his robes. As if the potion stains weren't disgusting enough. He accio'd a handkerchief before Weasley used his sleeve – or worse – and then touched anything else in Snape's quarters. "Here." He nudged Weasley, holding out the cloth.

Weasley gave him a sidelong, mortified glance and hesitantly released one throbbing buttock to take the hankie. It was clear the boy was deeply humiliated and equally clear that he was still completely incapable of composing himself.

Snape sighed again. He'd intended to spank the boy soundly enough to assuage the Gryffindor's guilt, thereby preventing additional nightmares from interfering with his sleep, but he'd had no desire to reduce the brat to the sodden mess now flinching before him. If nothing else, it made it impossible to dismiss him back to his dorm. Anyone would take one look at the boy's blotchy, tearstained face and demand a full explanation – the very thing Snape wanted to avoid.

Much as Snape longed to throw the little monster out and enjoy the rest of his evening in blessed solitude, obviously that wasn't going to happen. This was all Harry bloody Potter's fault. Why did Snape ever agree to handle this himself? Well, at least he didn't need to have the brat in the middle of the room, sniffling in that nauseating fashion despite the handkerchief clutched in his fist.

"Very well, Mr Weasley, go stand in the corner," he pointed.

Breath hitching as he fought to bring his sobs under control, Ron couldn't believe how much his arse stung. Bloody hell! Harry was right – Snape _must_ use magic to make it hurt this much. Not that Ron didn't deserve it, mind you, but he just hadn't expected a simple smacking would make him break down and bawl like a baby, especially in front of Snape. He could only imagine how much the greasy git would enjoy telling all the Slytherins about it. Malfoy would be even more unbearable, and – oh, Merlin! – Potions class was going to be a living hell. He could just imagine the comments Snape would make to entertain the rest of the students.

To his horror, the thought made him blubber even more. He felt like a complete prat, but somehow he couldn't muster his usual rage and hatred for Snape, even knowing that he'd probably delight in sharing Ron's humiliation with the widest possible audience. He just felt ashamed and childish and very, very sore.

If he were completely honest, he had to admit that as much as his bum hurt – and this had unquestionably been the worst walloping of his life - it wasn't just his scorched butt that was making him snivel like this. It was knowing what he'd done to earn the smacking. He had out-Snaped Snape; he'd attacked and come close to killing an innocent, and yet when he was standing there, entirely at Snape's mercy, the greasy git hadn't turned around and exacted bloody revenge. Ron had more than half expected Snape to use an old fashioned school cane or his belt or some other fearsome implement on him. After all, no one knew about this, it wasn't an official school punishment; there were no rules holding Snape back. He could have done anything he wanted, knowing Ron couldn't complain or argue.

Yet he hadn't even taken a hairbrush to Ron. He'd just used his hand, and he hadn't even made Ron drop his trousers. Ron had assumed that he'd at least do that, for the humiliation factor if nothing else. But Snape hadn't. Oh, he hadn't been lenient, but he hadn't been cruel either. He'd issued orders crisply, delivered an unexpectedly insightful lecture that had really made Ron think, then got right down to it and hit harder than Ron had believed humanly possible. But when all was said and done, it _was_ just a sound spanking, administered over his clothes with the flat of Snape's very, very hard hand. No slapping his face or knocking him down or even leaving lasting welts on his arse.

This was Wrong. Ron had spent the last year convinced that Snape was the Evil Slytherin while Ron and his friends were the heroic Gryffindors. Yet _he_ was the one who'd launched an unprovoked sneak attack while Snape, when he finally had the freedom to be as mean and nasty as he wanted, hadn't. Even Ron had to admit, he'd been… fair. He hadn't sneered or insulted or threatened. He'd given Ron the longest, hardest, and most painful spanking of his life, but that was what he'd both expected and deserved. Though in truth, while it had hurt more than he had imagined, it wasn't nearly as painful in other ways. His arse felt like he'd sat – repeatedly – on a hornets' nest, but he hadn't been mocked or belittled or terrorized. He felt punished, but not abused.

How could it be that _Snape_ was behaving honorably- more honorably than Ron?

Ron hiccupped and tried once again to suppress his tears. If only his backside would stop throbbing so much and his brain would stop whirling with all those impossible questions, then he'd be able to stop this bloody bawling. How was he ever going to sneak back to the dorm like this? And sure enough, at this further proof of his own uselessness, the tears flooded out anew.

"Very well, Mr Weasley, go stand in the corner." The quiet command accomplished what all of Ron's efforts could not. Sheer shock halted his crying.

"Wh – what?" He stared at the Potion Master. "I'm twelve!"

Snape merely gazed back at him, unblinking.

"I'm twelve," Ron repeated, genuinely trying to explain, not argue. "I'm too old to put in the corner."

"Then I assume you wish to simply leave?" Snape inquired, raising one eyebrow.

"Well… yeah," Ron admitted. He'd assumed that Snape would beat the hell out of him, then chuck him out to crawl, limp, or stagger back to Gryffindor Tower, where he would nurse his wounds and sulk.

"My, my, Mr Weasley. You do have it in for me," Snape commented mildly.

Ron grimaced as his hands tentatively tried to rub away some of the itchy sting from his bum. "What do you mean? Sir?" he added hastily.

"If I dismiss you in your current state, Weasley, it would be obvious to everyone from Hagrid to Professor Flitwick that you just received a thorough spanking at my hands. I would then find myself facing the enraged complaints and threats of your siblings, your friends, and your Head of House in short order, closely followed by the Headmaster and your parents, all out for my blood. Is it your intention to have me dismissed in disgrace?"

Ron's jaw dropped. "No! I didn't think –'

"After all," Snape continued, ignoring him, "wasn't it _your_ desire to keep the matter quiet and handle it ourselves? As I recall, I didn't want to assume the responsibility for disciplining you for your actions. It was only at your request that I agreed to do so. I would have thought you'd be more circumspect about these events." Snape paused, watching the expressions flutter across the boy's face. That was the problem with Gryffindors: no subtlety. But he imagined that Weasley did have the talent for stealth. It was just woefully underdeveloped.

When he saw the brat had worked out the logic in his argument, he continued, "Or was it your intention to lure me into agreeing to settle the matter between ourselves, only to display your injuries at the first opportunity, assuming that in the resultant inquiry, any allegations I made against you would be dismissed as a pathetic attempt to excuse my own actions?"

"N- no, sir. I just…" Ron trailed off. Snape was right. If he went back looking like this, still sniffling and leaking occasional tears, too sore to walk properly let alone sit, everyone would instantly know he'd been swatted – and _hard_. Percy and the twins and even Ginny would demand to know by whom, not to mention why. And of course Harry and Hermione and the rest of his classmates wouldn't be far behind them. If Snape hadn't been thinking ahead, Ron would have gotten them _both_ thrown out of Hogwarts. "I'm sorry," he said, hanging his head.

"You must remember to contemplate the consequences of your actions, Mr Weasley. You obviously know how to do it, you are just slothful about taking the time to do so. You will not always have Ms Granger around to do it for you." Snape paused, seeing the boy's color rise. At least he wasn't dissolving into a snot puddle again. "As it should now be obvious to you that you will not be leaving here for some time, the question of your activities during this period arises. You may either seat yourself at the desk and begin writing lines or stand in the corner and contemplate your actions and punishment."

Ron glanced at the hard wooden chair and paled. The thought of sitting on his smarting butt was nearly enough to bring back the sobs. Suddenly standing in the corner didn't seem like such a bad idea. "I'll take the corner, sir," he mumbled.

Snape nodded, watching the boy limp over to the indicated position. He was still sniffling and wiping away the occasional tear, but at least he was no longer hysterical. Snape watched for a moment as Ron shifted from foot to foot, gingerly massaging his sore bottom, then turned his attention to a stack of essays.

"Weasley!" he called out several minutes later, not bothering to look up from his work. "Do not use your sleeve as a handkerchief. You have a perfectly serviceable one in your hand."

"It's all soggy, sir," Ron said, embarrassed that Snape had caught him.

With an exasperated sigh, Snape banished the used cloth to the hamper and accio'd a fresh one into the boy's hand.

"Thank you, sir," Ron said meekly.

It took a total of three handkerchiefs before the tears and other body fluids were finally done for the night. Snape wondered if Ron were normally so weepy after a punishment – he would have expected a Weasley to recover more quickly; surely in a brood that size there was little time for coddling and he couldn't imagine the twins being particularly sensitive to a younger brother's tears. Still, he had given the boy a lot to think over, and it was obvious that the brat was well aware of the serious nature of his actions. Perhaps it was just as well that he was taking the whole thing hard. Besides, some of it might be simple relief. Given Snape's reputation, the boy had probably been terrified of his upcoming punishment. Snape permitted himself a small smile; it was always so easy to torture the younger students. And of course, even after their worst fears had failed to materialize, they tended to exaggerate the severity of the punishment so as to impress the other little monsters. All told, it was a highly efficient method of keeping the students scared witless of him.

Snape kept the boy in the corner for an additional ten minutes after the mopping and blowing had finally ended. At last, he called him over.

"Yes, sir?" Ron was moving stiffly, and it was clear that every step hurt.

"I have decided that you will spend half your time assisting me with potion ingredients and cleaning the lab." Ron nodded obediently. "The other half of the time, you will spend thinking about your actions and the philosophy which led to them."

Ron frowned in confusion. "You mean standing in the corner some more?"

"No, I mean writing essays." Snape smirked at the anguished look that came over Weasley's face. Obviously the boy would infinitely prefer scrubbing cauldrons to more scholastic endeavors. "For your first one – no less than three feet – you will describe several examples from both Muggle and Wizarding history that demonstrate the value of strategic thinking." Ron's brow wrinkled. That almost sounded interesting. "I have some books here that you may consult, though you may not remove them from my quarters. You can also use your History of Magic text and any books you may find in the library."

"You want me to talk about battles and Goblin wars?"

"Those are some examples, but not the only ones," Snape replied. "I expect you to do your research and come up with the examples you find most informative."

Ugh. Research. On the other hand, this was sounding like a chess problem. He'd never had a research paper on an interesting topic before. "Sir," he blurted out, "thank you." At Snape's stunned expression, he added, "You've been really nice."

"Mr Weasley, if you consider my actions towards you this evening 'nice', I find myself acutely concerned about child rearing practices at the Burrow," Snape drawled, hiding the shock he felt at the boy's words.

Ron blushed. "I just meant that, well, you weren't nearly as awful as I thought you'd be." Hm. That hadn't come out sounding the way he meant it. And from Snape's expression, he wasn't taking it as a compliment. "Um, I mean –"

Snape, amazingly, took pity on him. "I believe I understand, Mr Weasley. I take it that you are relieved that I 'killed you, but I didn't really _kill_ you'."

Hearing his own words quoted back to him brought a genuine, albeit brief, smile to Ron's face. Snape _did_ get it. "Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. That's what I meant. Just… well, thanks."

"You're welcome. Now get to work." Realizing that Weasley hadn't brought any of his books with him, Snape summoned a house elf and instructed her to bring Ron's schoolbag down to the dungeons.

"Sir?" Ron had started to look over the books Snape had gathered from his personal library, and one had immediately caught his eye. "What does it mean, 'The Art of War'? How can war be an art?"

The resulting discussion took several minutes, and Snape was surprised to realize that the house elf had not yet returned. He cleared his throat to call another, but there was a soft knock at his door and then a tousled dark head tentatively appeared and emerald eyes quickly fastened on where the two were standing by the desk. "Um, hi."

Snape turned a fearsome expression of disapproval on Harry, who quailed before it. "A house elf said Ron needed his stuff, so I thought I'd bring them myself," he offered timidly, holding the satchel in front of him like an offering.

"Thank you," Snape said coldly. "Now leave." It was already pointless. By then Harry had spotted his friend's flushed features and reddened eyes and his eyes widened in shock. Ron blushed violently and looked away as he saw from Harry's face that he had instantly deduced what had happened.

Eyes flashing, Harry turned to Snape and opened his mouth, but Snape took him by the collar and dragged him out of the room before he could speak. "Come with me, Mr Potter," he ordered brusquely.

Ron stared after them. Loud voices broke out, only to be cut off as Snape obviously cast a silencing charm. He fidgeted uneasily, certain that Harry was demanding to know exactly why and how Snape had come to wallop him. He wondered what Snape was telling him. It wasn't so much that he _minded_ Harry knowing, but when he didn't even know how _he_ felt, it wasn't going to be easy to explain things to his friends.

A few moments later, the door opened, and a much chastened Harry emerged, following by a poker-faced Snape. Ron sneaked a quick look, but Harry didn't seem to be limping. Maybe he'd just been roughed up verbally?

Harry headed to the door, but stopped for one last appeal. "I really should stay so you can check my work," he whined.

"I told you we would not be meeting tonight," Snape said firmly. "I will review your assignments tomorrow at our regular time."

"But I have a Charms essay due tomorrow and it'll be too late for you to see it."

Snape frowned. "Why is this the first I am hearing about this essay?" he asked forbiddingly.

"Professor Flitwick only assigned it two days ago," Harry defended himself. "Ask Ron."

Ron nodded hastily, even before Snape could speak. "So this is really your only chance to check it over."

Snape huffed in irritation. "Fine. Let me have it."

"Erm," Harry fiddled with his own book bag. "I haven't exactly finished it." At Snape's growl, he looked up quickly. "But if you let me stay, then I could finish it and you could look it over and then if it needs revising I could do it tomorrow morning before Charms."

"This is not a study date," Snape snapped. "Weasley is being punished. The two of you chattering away is hardly conducive to either of you completing your assigned work."

"We won't chatter," Harry assured him. He must have heard something in Snape's tone that eluded Ron, because he quickly moved back into the room, heading over to his friend. Ron looked nervously at the professor, but although his eyes were narrowed in annoyance, he merely growled to himself and reseated himself at his own desk.

Ron took a step towards the chair and winced as his backside protested. Harry's quick glance showed he had noticed, but happily he didn't say anything to Ron. Instead, he called over to Snape, "Sir? Can we study in front of the fire?"

"No. Sit at the desk." Snape didn't even look up.

Harry stuck his lower lip out. "Please?"

"No."

"It'll be easier for us to concentrate on our work, you know," Harry's tone was innocent but there was an undercurrent of meaning that finally brought Snape's head up.

"The first time I catch you whispering or passing notes," he began threateningly.

"You won't!" Harry exclaimed happily. He grabbed Ron's satchel back and led the way over to the area before the large fireplace. Ron, after an uncertain look at Snape, who nodded permission, took the books from the desk and followed him.

Several large, overstuffed pillows flew in from another room, and Harry wasted no time in building a little nest for himself. Ron followed suit, creating a sort of pallet on which he then lay, face down. Even in that position, his backside still smarted, but this was a lot better than sitting on it would have been.

About an hour and a half later, during which the only sounds were the rustling of parchment, the scratching of quills, and the crackle of the fire, Harry glanced over at Snape. "Oh, by the way, Ron likes peanut butter biscuits."

Ron was bewildered by this apparent non sequitar, but Snape appeared to understand, and he crooked a finger at Harry, glaring. The boy trotted over to him and a low, hissed conversation took place. Ron couldn't quite make out any words, though he wasn't sure if that was because Snape cast a muffling charm or if they were just keeping their voices down, but at the end of it, Snape was glowering while Harry trotted back with a triumphant smirk and winked at Ron. Ron shrugged and returned to his book. If Snape wanted him to know what was going on, he'd tell him.

Some time later, Snape's stern voice interrupted the boys' work. "Finish up. It's nearly curfew time."

Harry obediently began to put his things together – he had already begun revising his Charms essay under Snape's supervision – but Ron was too engrossed in his book to notice. "Give us a pass," he ordered absently. "I want to finish this chapter."

The dead silence that followed his words finally penetrated, and he looked up curiously. It was only when he caught the frozen expression on Harry's face that he realized what he had done. Giving commands to _Snape_? Ignoring his instructions? Was he suicidal? His backside throbbed in time with his suddenly racing heartbeat, and he gulped, wondering if he was about to get another walloping for impudence. "Sir, I'm sorry," he gabbled, too scared to look at the man. "I didn't mean to be cheeky. I wasn't –"

"Well, well," Snape drawled. "I never thought I would live to see the day when you were using your brain for anything other than memorizing useless Quidditch statistics. I suppose such unaccustomed activity should be rewarded. You may finish the chapter."

Ron stared at Snape in amazement, barely noticing that Harry was similarly astonished. "Th-thank you, sir." He managed to get the words out, then apparently driven by some previously undetected streak of madness, he couldn't help adding: "But Charlie says Quidditch stats are dead helpful in pub quizzes."

"Ah yes, and what higher aspiration could a Weasley have than to excel at a pub quiz night," Snape sneered. "I stand corrected, Mr Weasley."

Ron grinned. Yeah, it was snarky and mean, but he remembered Snape's earlier words about his family. He obviously thought they were intelligent and accomplished, despite his insults. That put his words in the category of teasing, as far as Ron was concerned, and as the twins' younger brother, he had plenty of experience with that. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged, then, lest the greasy git change his mind, he dove back into Sun Tzu.

At the end of the chapter, he was tempted to keep reading in the hopes that Snape might not notice, but he figured he had pushed his luck enough for one night, and he closed the book, carefully marking the page where he had stopped. "This Sun Tzu was one clever wizard," he said enthusiastically, noticing that Snape and Harry were already seated on the couch at the other end of the room. He got to his feet, only wincing a bit, and hurried over to join them. He hesitated, then gingerly lowered himself onto the sofa. To his relief, the cushions were remarkably soft, and his bum only twinged a little. "Why don't we learn more about _him_ in History of Magic and less about the stupid goblins?"

"Perhaps because he was a Muggle," Snape informed him coolly.

"What? Really? But he's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.

"Some Muggles are smart, Ron," Harry said reprovingly. "Just like some wizards are dumb."

"Yeah, like Crabbe and Goyle," Ron agreed, then realized too late that he was insulting members of Snape's House. "Um, I mean…"

Happily, the pop of an appearing house elf distracted the professor, and Ron was surprised to find a plate of freshly baked peanut butter biscuits deposited in front of him, along with a cup of tea. Harry grinned at his expression and waved a piece of shortbread at him. Snape rolled his eyes and ignored both of them.

_TBC…_


	13. Chapter 13

As they walked back up to the dorms, a pass from Snape safely clutched in their hands, Ron waited for the inevitable questions. Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Aren't you going to ask me why Snape whacked me?"

"Nope." Harry shook his head.

"Or how come he's allowed to?"

"No."

"Why not?" Ron asked, bewildered.

" 'Cause I asked Snape about it when I first got down there."

"Oh." Ron felt oddly betrayed. "So what did he say?"

"He said that he was surprised to learn that I didn't think that punishments should be kept confidential, but now that he knew better, he was sure that Malfoy would enjoy hearing all about my last spanking," Harry mumbled, blushing furiously. Ron's jaw dropped. "He was pretty mad."

"But – but – it's different with you and me," Ron finally managed to say. "I mean, we're best mates, and he knows that."

"Yeah, I told him that too, and he said that if we were such best mates, why wasn't I doing you the courtesy of allowing you some privacy? He said that I got angry when they were pushing me to reveal my secrets, and that I should be ashamed of myself for not respecting other people's." He looked over at Ron. "I hadn't thought of it like that. I'm really sorry."

Ron just mumbled and shrugged. He wasn't really upset with Harry. If their positions had been reversed, he would have probably done the same thing.

"Then he said that he wasn't about to try to figure out who was friends with who at any given time – though he said it a lot fancier and nastier – and so he just didn't talk about anyone's punishment with anyone else. _Then_ he said that he didn't let anyone in his House do it either. Punishments were no one's business but his and the student's, and he had the perfect cure for someone who was nosy about them – he made sure that they knew what it felt like to be publicly punished and have everyone talk about it. He said that if I asked you about your punishment, he'd find out, and he'd wallop me right in front of our whole Potions class."

Ron's eyes bugged out. "He did?!"

Harry nodded grimly. "And believe me, he meant it. So no, I'm not going to ask you a thing. If you want to tell me or Hermione or anyone, that's your choice, but as far as I'm concerned, I didn't see anything."

Ron felt his shoulders straighten as if a burden had been lifted off them. If Snape said that to _Harry,_ then surely he wasn't planning to broadcast Ron's wailing all over the school. Maybe it _would_ just be between the two of them. He grinned to himself. He might still be walking slowly and painfully, but knowing that Malfoy wouldn't be waiting in the morning to torment him had just lightened his mood considerably.

"Still sore?" Harry asked sympathetically, seeing how carefully Ron was moving. "Not that I'm asking how you got that way!" he added quickly.

Ron smiled ruefully and rubbed his still-smarting rear. "Yeah, you could say that. 'S a little better than it was though. And you're right; I swear he uses magic."

"You'll probably feel okay by morning. I always do." Seeing Ron's doubtful expression, Harry offered, "Well, even if it's not gone, it'll be _better_."

"Yeah, I guess… Y'know, he could've been a lot worse to me," Ron blurted out. "He's not that bad, really."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, and the biscuits are brilliant."

_TBC…_


	14. Chapter 14

Ron was still a little tender the next day, but not enough for anyone else to notice. Even Snape, who studied him closely in Potions, could only detect a slight hesitation before he sat down and greater than usual amounts of fidgeting in his chair. Other than that, though, the boy behaved like his usual self – well, except for the shy smile with which he greeted the professor. He was able to attend quidditch practice with Harry, and if he groaned and limped at the end of the hour, it was no more than the other exhausted team members were doing. "Is Ickle Ronniekins tired?" Fred and George asked, coming up behind the boys.

"Yeah," Harry responded for him. "He hasn't been feeling that great."

"Awwww, poor widdle man," they teased him, but for all their annoying mockery, Fred hoisted him up in the air and deposited him on George's back for a piggy back ride to the dorms. Ron protested, but in truth it felt a lot better on his bum than walking. He suspected that by the next day, his backside would be completely back to normal, but just then, at the end of a long day and not quite 24 hours after the worst spanking of his life, he didn't really mind his big brothers babying him, even if they were awfully irritating with it.

He and Harry returned to Snape's quarters later in the evening, and Ron was directed to the sink in the laboratory for cauldron scrubbing that night. For the better part of a fortnight, things continued in much the same way, though Ron noticed that his chore nights were getting rather less frequent than his study nights. Instead of alternating one with the other, it was soon two or even three study nights for every evening he spent squishing bubotubers, depending upon the assignments and how his essay was progressing. And there were several nights when Snape sent word that Ron was excused, giving himself time alone with Harry, and even a few when both boys were told to stay away, as Snape was otherwise occupied for the evening. Still, Ron caught himself beginning to look forward to the hours in Snape's quarters, reading about military strategy and ethics while Harry practiced DADA and occlumency. The only problem was one that, in retrospect, both boys should have foreseen.

"It's not fair!" Hermione yelled at them, her face flushed and her eyes suspiciously shiny.

"What?" Ron flinched back. He knew the signs of a female in meltdown mode, and he edged towards the exit from the Common Room.

"What's the matter, 'Mione?" Harry asked, concerned. They had been studying Charms, and suddenly Hermione had started to shout. What had he said wrong? He'd only mentioned a new charm that Snape had promised to show him if he did well on Flitwick's next exam.

"It's not fair! You're _always_ rewarded when you get into trouble!" she said, her voice cracking. "I behave and study and keep you out of mischief, and you're the ones that get the special privileges!"

"Like what?" Ron demanded incredulously.

"Like getting to study with Professor Snape! Like getting to use his own private, personal library! Like getting to be taught all kinds of things that aren't in our books!"

"It's not a reward," Ron argued. "I have to spend a lot of time mincing seaslugs and all sorts of disgusting things."

"I'd be happy to do that if I could use his library!" Hermione snapped back. "You don't even appreciate what you're getting!"

"Girls are mental," Ron rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you actually _want_ to spend time in the dungeons, getting insulted and scrubbing cauldrons and –"

"Oh, shut it, Ronald Weasley!" Hermione snarled, sounding amazingly like Snape. "I've heard all about the study time and the biscuits and the interesting discussions. So don't you try to tell me it's just awful down there. It's not fair. I mean, I understand why Harry has to get the extra time and attention, and I didn't really mind when it was just him, but now it's the both of you, and you're getting all this great stuff and – and – I'm just left out of _all of it_!" Her voice broke and a tear spilled down her cheek. She buried her face in her hands.

Ron looked horrified and ready to bolt, while Harry frantically tried to think of something to say.

"Um, um, why don't you come with us tonight?" he finally gulped.

Ron stared at him in disbelief, while Hermione lifted her face and gaped at him. "Do you really mean it?"

"Sure," Harry said stoutly, wondering what on earth Snape's reaction would be. He'd more or less accepted Ron's presence, but that had come about more or less by accident and because of the detentions. If he thought Harry was getting in the habit of inviting the whole of Gryffindor Tower to his private quarters… Still, Hermione did have a point, and it would be really awful of Harry not to at least try to include her.

So that night, the three nervously made their way down to the dungeons. Hermione stayed behind Ron while Harry apprehensively knocked and entered. "Um, Professor," he gulped, approaching the desk where the man was grading papers, "is it okay that I, um, invited Hermione along tonight?"

He was prepared for yells of outrage, complaints about "arrogant brats who invade my privacy", and even a quick swat or two for his presumption. He wasn't prepared for a quirked eyebrow and a calm, "I wondered how long it would take before you thought to include her."

"What? I mean – huh? That is, well, she actually was the one who…"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You mean you made her ask you? It didn't occur to you to invite her along? Didn't you think she would enjoy it?" Now that he put it like that, Harry did feel badly about not realizing how Hermione must have felt. "Or did you want to exclude her?" Harry squirmed. No wonder Hermione had gotten so upset. What a rotten friend he had been.

"No, I did want her along. I just didn't think…" Harry trailed off dismally as Snape scowled at him. The professor hated it when he used that excuse. Not that it was untrue, it just irked Snape no end when he didn't stop and consider things.

"One hundred lines of 'I will think about my actions and not cause others pain with my thoughtlessness.'" Snape snapped.

"Yes, sir," Harry sighed resignedly. "Does that mean Hermione can stay?"

"Yes," Snape gestured to where Harry's friends hovered nervously at the threshold, and they tentatively entered his quarters. "Welcome, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor," she said politely. "Your quarters are very nice. I like the green and black color scheme."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks of bewilderment. They had never even noticed the color scheme, let alone complimented the Potion Master on it.

"I can see that you will add a much needed level of civility to the gathering," Snape replied. "Not that that is saying very much.

"Very well, here are the rules. Mr Potter, you are still to attend extra lessons with me at least five nights a week. You may invite Mr Weasely and/or Miss Granger along on no more than three of those nights. Mr Weasley, I may also summon you to work in the laboratory. Those nights are considered detentions and will be treated as such."

"That means no biscuits," Harry whispered to Ron.

"Indeed," Snape agreed. "However, on nights when you are working on the essays that I have assigned you, you are welcome to join the rest of us."

Ron grinned in relief. Since he was really here for punishment, unlike Harry and Hermione, he had wondered if Snape was going to treat him differently than the other two. It was reassuring to hear that they would all be treated the same here in the quarters. He understood that it was different on the nights that he had to work with disgusting things out in the Potions lab. Frankly, he didn't really have much appetite for tea and biscuits after slicing and deboning and pulping and filleting and skinning potion ingredients. He'd be just as glad to be dismissed and head straight to a hot shower.

"The rules for you, Miss Granger, are that no books from my personal library are to leave these quarters. You may look at the bookshelves but do not touch any of the books. If there is one you would like to see, you will ask my permission and if granted, I will retrieve the book for you. I do not answer homework questions, but if you need help, I will provide references wherein you may find the answers. I will, upon request, review your essays and Mr Weasley's. I review all of Mr Potter's essays despite his requests to the contrary." Snape permitted himself a brief smile, while behind his back, Harry made a face. "I saw that, Mr Potter. Behave yourself or I will hex your face to stay that way. To continue, Miss Granger, you will conduct yourself with decorum at all times, and you will under no circumstance expect our time here to alter my treatment of you elsewhere. If your behavior fails to meet my expectations, you will – at the least – be told to leave, and your return will not be easily accomplished. I do not, however, restrict myself from levying additional penalties against you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" Hermione said quickly.

"Very well," Snape relaxed with a look of resignation. "What is your favorite type of biscuit?"

_FINIS_

_Author's Note: Thank you and mega-hugs to all you wonderful reviewers! I really appreciate the compliments and the constructive criticism. It is such a thrill to hear that you like my take on JKR's universe and want more stories featuring my version of her characters. I will do my best to come up with some new stories - your reviews certainly provide plenty of motivation. :)_


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